


Ain't That a Kick in the Head

by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)



Series: Under My Skin [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Best Friends, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon-Typical Violence, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Feels, Deaf Clint Barton, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda Romantic in a Dumb Ass Way, Life After the Army, Love Confessions, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, POV Alternating, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Requited Love, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Survivor Guilt, Tattoos, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, War Veteran Clint Barton, War Veteran Natasha Romanov, War Veteran Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-09-18 21:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 114,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9403592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqen_hgar/pseuds/Finely%20Honed
Summary: “That guy out there? Lovin’ him is the best part of being alive, Steve. We both know I can be just as stubborn, and maybe twice as oblivious as you. I wanted Clint so bad, for so long, but I was all turned around, and lying to myself, makin’ excuses as to how it was some crazy side effect of spending so much time together. But the truth was? I was scared. It was too big, so I tried like hell to hide from the truth, right up until I went and got blown up. Then it was total fuckin’ clarity time.”Back before Steve adopted Peter, or Tony walked into SHIELD Tattoo and upended Steve's world, Bucky almost died in Clint's arms. This is the story of what happened after.Takes place 5 ½ years beforeDeep in the Heart of Me. While reading that beast will provide a lot of context into the universe, I'm pretty sure this would still make sense solo.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ishtar12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishtar12/gifts), [tisfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/gifts), [27dragons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/gifts), [Potrix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/gifts), [InnerCinema](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerCinema/gifts).



> All of the thanks to Ishtar12, 27dragons, Tisfan, Potrix, and InnerCinema for letting me whine and gush and force them to read all of these words. They keep me sane in an insane world and have made me a better writer.
> 
> Chapter updates every week.
> 
> Title comes from the [Dean Martin song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0lm76UTmlDg) of the same name. I can very easily imagine Clint changing the lyrics around a bit and singing this to Bucky... preferably in the shower. ;D
> 
>  **Want to read this without reading _Deep in the Heart of Me_?** Here's what you need to know:
> 
> At age six Steve is sent to an orphanage after his ma dies. Bucky claims Steve as his little bro, and they become inseparable. The Howling Commandos served with Steve's dad, and once they find out what happened to Sarah, they track Steve down and wind up adopting both of the boys, rather than splitting them up.
> 
> Steve, Natasha, Clint, and Bucky served together in the Army, and during their time together Natasha taught Steve and Clint how to tattoo. In November of 2009 something goes horribly wrong during a mission, and the eight other members of their Special Forces unit are killed. Bucky loses his arm, and Clint is deafened. As their Captain, Steve feels responsible for what has happened, especially the loss of Bucky's arm, despite saving his brother's life by slinging Bucky over his shoulders and running through a hail of bullets. ( _Easy Living_ contains a flashback to the incident from Bucky's POV as he finally confesses his love to Clint.)
> 
> Richard Parker (and Nick Fury) also served with the crew, and while Richard has left the Army and claims to be a civilian, he and Mary Parker are actually working with the CIA. Richard considers Steve a brother, and also the best man he's ever known.
> 
> Feel free to holler in the comments if anything fails to make sense, so I can update this clarifications list! :D

Clint’s hand was shaking so bad he dropped his quarter before he could feed it into the vending machine. He made a grab for it, but someone bumped into him from behind, so instead of plucking the falling coin out of the air like he’d planned, it skimmed off the tips of Clint’s fingers.

Over his shoulder, Clint snapped, “Watch where you’re going,” turning back around just in time to see his quarter roll under the vending machine. Clint stared down into his palm—three pennies remained—then up at the display, where the machine helpfully informed him he was still twenty-five cents short of caffeination. “Aw, quarter.”

Feeling close to tears, Clint dropped to his hands and knees, and peered beneath the vending machine, spotting the shiny edge of his quarter, which was just out of reach of his straining fingers. Because _of course it was_. Why wouldn’t it be? All he wanted was a goddamned cup of coffee! It was bad enough settling for the dark brown swill the machine pissed into a styrofoam cup to begin with, and now he wasn’t even going to have _that_ , which was so not fair.

Right around when Clint decided his only option was to physically assault the machine, he took note of a pair of boots, turned, and jumped in surprise to see there was someone standing over him. The MP still had his weapon holstered, but there was a serious scowl in place, and the guy’s mouth was moving.

“Yeah, can’t hear you,” Clint said, or shouted, pointing to his bandaged head. “Got blowed up.”

The guy continued to talk, and Clint spared a moment to wonder how much trouble he’d get into for tipping a vending machine onto a MP.

“ _Literally_ blown up. Bunch of my friends are dead,” Clint clarified. “You got a quarter, man? Mine’s under the machine, and I swear, if I don’t get some coffee, I’m probably going to… to do something really stupid.” Clint paused to suck air in through his teeth. Scrambled to his feet, added, “It’s sort of my thing.”

MP bro opened his mouth, but then closed it, and fished a hand into his pocket. Clint just about burst into tears as the quarter slid into the waiting slot, completing his transaction. “Thanks, man,” he croaked, watching the shitty coffee spray vehemently into the equally shitty cup.

A tap on his shoulder prompted Clint to turn his head. The MP gave him a thumbs up, a tight smile, and then headed off. Clint watched him go, off into the hustle and bustle of the hospital, where phones were ringing, people were talking, and shouting, or crying out in pain. For him, though, it was nothing but the dull roar of silence, terrifying in its pervasiveness.

Before the panic could wash over him, Clint grabbed his coffee, and took off down the hallway like people were chasing him. “Don’t freak out, don’t freak out,” he muttered, but not being able to hear his own reassurances made them sort of fall flat.

By the time he stumbled into Bucky’s room, Clint’s heart was going a mile a minute, and he was blinking sweat out of his eyes. At least he’d kept hold of the coffee. The warmth of it in his hands was better than the taste, but like Bucky always said, even bad coffee was still coffee.

Bucky wasn’t saying anything at the moment. His eyes were closed, but not in the restful, catching some sleep while you can sort of way Clint was used to. You could see his eyes rolling fitfully beneath the lids, which were shadowed almost to the point of looking bruised. All of his colors were off at the moment. Clint should know, he was an expert on Bucky.

Like, his skin, right? Normally there was way more of a healthy glow going on, not the waxy, almost gray tinge he was sporting. Probably that was because of all the blood Bucky had lost, or maybe something in one of the IV bags was to blame. The lighting in the hospital didn’t help, either, or the shade of green the walls were painted.

Clint settled down in _his_ chair, the one he’d called dibs on, and dragged into the ideal position for observing both Bucky and the doorway, so no one could sneak up on them. The chair hadn’t gotten any more comfortable in his absence, which was a bummer.

_Stupid chair._

Clint sighed, drank his awful coffee, and watched Bucky sleep.

Between the IVs, electrodes, drainage tubes, and other medical shit, it looked like Bucky was stuck in some sort of spider’s web. Every once in awhile, Bucky would twitch in his sleep, making Clint’s heart smack against his ribcage in response. Each time, he lurched forward, ready to do _something_ , but Bucky always settled back into sleep.

 _Morphine,_ that helpful asshole voice in his head reminded him.

Whatever. Morphine meant Bucky wasn’t hurting, and he’d been dope-chill enough the last time he’d surfaced that the nurses had decided he didn’t need to be strapped down to the bed anymore. That was good. It was bad enough seeing Bucky in pain, looking small, and vulnerable; something else altogether having him tied down to the bed while it was happening.

Clint watched and watched, until he felt a little like he was dreaming with his eyes open. In his mind, Bucky’s lips brushed against his own, while the whole world exploded around them in a hail of bullets. With a jerk, Clint sat up straighter in his chair, and realized Bucky’s eyes were open, and he was looking back.

“Come here,” Bucky said, lips moving all slow and purposeful, so that Clint could read them easily. He beckoned weakly just to be safe.

Once Clint was close enough to touch, Bucky did that, the hand he had left running over every bit of Clint he could reach before settling down against the back of Clint’s neck. Bucky’s eyes were puffy, and red, the blue of them all washed out and dulled from the drugs. Chapped lips, greasy hair, stubble, a sickly pallor; he was the most beautiful thing Clint had ever seen.

“Gonna kiss you,” Clint warned, hoping it was allowed. The kiss was quick, and chaste, but still made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Bucky used what little strength he had to pull Clint back for another before letting go, eyelids already heavy and drooping again.

Bucky pointed to the side of his head, then wiggled his fingers next to his ear, lips seeming to ask, “Anything?”

Clint sighed, and wedged himself onto the bed beside Bucky, taking care not to disrupt any of Bucky’s medical paraphernalia in the process.

What he wanted to do was lie down, wrap himself around Bucky, and sleep for however long it took for the shitshow that passed as his life to resolve itself into something manageable again. Instead, Clint kept a leg hanging off the narrow hospital bed, positioned so he could face Bucky. Close enough to touch, but not so close as to raise any red flags if one of the doctors or nurses showed up.

The door was at his back, making the spot between his shoulder blades itch, but sitting on the _other_ side of the bed was out of the question. Bucky was trying real hard not to look that direction since it’d mean seeing what was left of his arm, and anyway, Clint didn't trust himself not to snag a drainage tube, or jostle something he shouldn't.

Back to the door or not, at least the bed was more forgiving on his ass than the chair, and Clint could see Bucky's mouth this way, which was important now that he couldn't hear. _And_ , oops, Bucky was watching him, still waiting for an answer to his question. Clint shrugged a shoulder, then slumped, not quite able to meet Bucky’s eyes when giving him the thumbs down.

Fingers tapped against his knee, and once he looked up again, Bucky pointed to himself, fluttered his hand over his heart a couple times, then pointed at Clint.

“Love you, too, Buck,” Clint said, hopefully loud enough for Bucky to hear, but not so loud as to alert anyone walking by the room.

Bucky’s eyes started leaking again. You couldn't really call it crying anymore, just tears spilling out and running down his cheeks. Wet, clumped lashes and a runny nose completed the look, making Bucky just about the most pathetic thing Clint had ever laid eyes on. Still the most beautiful thing, too, but lingering on _that_ observation made Clint feel like a selfish dirtbag.

_Bad, Clint._

Bucky was blown up, and falling apart. Kisses and declarations of love aside, it was not the time or place. Besides, Bucky probably meant the same sort of love they’d always had for each other, and probably you were allowed to kiss your bestie a little when you both survived getting blown up. Didn’t mean Bucky wanted to ride off into some super gay sunset with Clint, or anything. Right?

Bucky's eyes darted to the left, then squeezed shut. He said something that looked an awful lot like _nightmare_ , the rest of the words indecipherable. Then his hand was gripping the side of his head, face twisted up in pain, mouth moving and—

“Disadvantage,” Clint said. Probably shouted more like, based on the way Bucky jerked in surprise. “I wanna help, but I got like _none_ of that.”

Bucky’s hand slipped away from his face, and something twisted low in Clint's stomach, made it hard to breathe. _Pain_ might as well have been written in flashing neon letters above Bucky's head. His nostrils flared, tears still slipping down his cheeks as he gestured to where his arm used to be, and then made a fist. “Still feel it,” he said slowly, and, “Hurts.”

Then, before Clint could even process the awfulness of this information, Bucky had to go and ask the question again. They'd been over it already, but Bucky had been kind of losing his mind at the time, ripping at the IVs and screaming. The freak out was followed by tranqs or painkillers being administered, sending Bucky back under while nurses strapped him down to the bed, so it wasn't too surprising he didn't remember.

Bucky pointed to himself, to Clint, then raised up two more fingers on the hand he had left while saying, “Steve,” and, “Tasha.” He waggled the four fingers, then made a fist again, clearing the count before rapidly raising thumb and fingers til reaching a new count of eight. Bucky opened his palm, gestured around them at the hospital, not needing to ask, “Where the fuck is everyone else?” because the question was in his eyes.

“They're dead,” Clint said, watching the grief and disbelief ripple across Bucky's face. His eyes seemed to ask if Clint was sure, looking for loopholes where there weren't any. “All of ‘em. Definitely dead. You caught the edge of the blast. Cap got visual confirmation before we split.”

As far as Clint was able to make out, Steve had only found _pieces_ of their friends. There’d been a lot of running and shooting after that. There weren't words for the terror of running for your life, especially when you couldn't hear what was happening. Seeing Bucky draped across Steve’s shoulders like a corpse wasn’t exactly great, either. There had been no way to tell if he was still alive, not in the thick of things.

Bucky grabbed a fistful of Clint’s shirt, and shook him. Then he was being yanked forward, Bucky’s arm tight around him. He could feel the words Bucky was saying, rumbling around in the man’s chest, or maybe those were just sobs. Whatever. Kisses were pressed against the side of Clint’s head, and when he pulled back a bit, Bucky lips were shaping the words, “Still alive,” and, “Not too late,” over and over, getting his hopes up.

A warm hand cupped the side of Clint’s face, Bucky’s thumb brushing against his lower lip. The way Bucky was looking at him was like nothing Clint had ever seen before, not on anyone’s face. Definitely not something he ever expected to see aimed in his direction. It was almost enough to freak him right the fuck out, but… but it was _Bucky_.

“Still right here.”

It looked a lot like Bucky said, “Nothing matters but you, sweetheart.” Clint smiled, which was probably dumb, but Bucky smiled back, all wild and unhinged looking. “Fuck the arm,” Bucky added, and there was the pain again, twisting across his face, “I still got you. All I need.” He gestured frantically between the two of them. “You and me.”

“Me and you,” Clint agreed, nodding. “Super gay sunset.”

Bucky should have looked confused about that statement, but instead he laughed, and _fuck_ , Clint wanted to hear that laugh _so bad_. Panic began bubbling up, but it was hard to maintain, so he let it go back to a simmer, and watched with his mouth hanging open in shock as Bucky mimed sucking dick, tongue tucked in his cheek and poking the flesh out obscenely.

“You and me,” Bucky said, “biggest gay sunset ever. Believe it. Soon as…” and then his mouth stopped moving, and he gestured helplessly at the equipment surrounding him.

“Yeah.” Clint nodded, scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to push away his stupid smile. Thinking about some kind of _future_ was scary, and he didn’t want to do it, but… But a real-deal happily ever after with Bucky?

Fingers brushed against his cheek. Once he was looking up, Bucky said, “We’ll learn sign language.” As if to prove his commitment, he mimed jerking off, then gave Clint a thumbs up. “You can tie my shoes for me.”

Now Clint was laughing, which was wrong, but felt so fucking good. Shit, yeah! Bucky was right, they were alive, and now they had a second chance, and no one was freaking out over wanting to touch each other’s dicks, which was great, since Clint had always expected Buck to have a problem with that part of things.

Kissing Bucky was different this time, even if it was a bit gross. They both needed to brush their teeth, and that mingled with the taste of tears, old coffee, blood, and hospital, but that also kind of made it perfect. The awful little details made it _real_ , because they weren’t the sorts of things Clint would have ever thought to incorporate into one of his fantasies.

Bucky’s perfect lips moved again, forming the words all slow, and purposeful, and all for Clint. They were real good words, too, like, “Gonna be okay, baby,” and, “I promise,” and, “I’m so lucky,” and, “love you, Clint, love you, love you.”

_Best words ever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this story my coping mechanism for life, because that's pretty much what it's become at this point. Hey reality? I dun' wanna anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Context time! If you haven't read "Deep in the Heart of Me" it's probably worth knowing that Steve enlisted in the Army the day after his 18th birthday and—after flipping out over this—Bucky signed up the day after that so he could attempt to keep an eye on his brother.

Since landing in the hospital, the first thing Bucky did when he woke up was look for Clint. Nine times out of ten Clint was slouched in his chair, either sleeping or staring at Bucky as if looking away would erase Bucky from existence.

Clint's chair was empty, which sucked.

Bucky totally understood the intensity with which Clint watched him sleep, because he was right on the same wavelength. Dum Dum was fond of saying that close only counted in horseshoes and handgrenades; Bucky never thought on the words too hard until the first time someone threw a grenade his way. Grenades had nothing to do with losing his arm, but the stupid saying had been running through Bucky’s head on a loop, because fuck if he and Clint didn’t come _real damn close_.

Maybe it was paranoia, but since almost dying in Clint’s arms— _horseshoes and handgrenades_ —Bucky was having Trouble with a capital T when it came to not having eyes on Clint. The longer Clint was absent, the worse it got. The last time it was bad enough to send his heart rate through the roof and bring the nurses running, the stupid screeching medical equipment not helping him any with his quest to achieve calm. They’d sedated him again, which was infuriating for about a hundred reasons, the biggest being it made Clint wear a guilty expression for hours after finding out what had happened.

Back _before_ , there'd been a night when he and Clint had hunkered down together with a bottle of moonshine, and some horror movies where Death went and picked off a bunch of kids who’d managed to escape their fate. He and Clint had laughed themselves stupid at the time, but like his dad’s saying, the idea had taken Bucky’s imagination hostage. What if surviving was some sort of cosmic mix up, and the universe decided to course-correct? There was a lot of shit that could go wrong while he was stuck in a hospital bed. What if Clint went and got electrocuted in the shower, or fell out of bed and broke his neck or something? If the beautiful disaster went and died _now_ , Bucky was gonna have to eat his gun and hunt the fucker down in the afterlife.

The idea was beyond ridiculous, yeah, but Bucky wasn't really feeling rational as of late. Eight of his friends were dead, Clint was deaf, Steve had been shot, Tasha was gonna have some nasty new scars from taking shrapnel, and despite intermittently hurting like hell, Bucky’s arm wasn’t even in the same _building_ as he was. The entire world had changed overnight, and that kind of thing had a way of fucking with your world view.

Plus, drugs.

“Hey, Barnes.”

Bucky had been so preoccupied with Clint's empty chair that he’d failed to notice he had a visitor. Clued in, he rolled his head on the pillow and smiled half heartedly.

“Hey yourself, Parker.” Richard returned the smile, and made to sit down. “Not there. That's Clint's seat.”

Richard changed his trajectory and aimed himself at one of the other chairs without complaint. “Barton left about an hour ago, should be back soon. Hearing test.”

That couldn't take too long, which meant Bucky was looking in the ten to twenty minute range. He could handle that. Probably.

“You seen Stevie?”

Bucky's voice sounded like he'd been up all night drinking, smoking, and shouting to be heard over the rest of the knuckleheads he'd come to think of as his second family. Like it did every fucking time, the loss hit Bucky low in the gut, took the air right out of him, so that he felt hollow and brittle and ready to break.

“Just came from his room,” Richard said, leaning over to squeeze Bucky's hand. “I'm so sorry, Barnes. This is… I don’t have the words.”

“Whole thing is crazy,” Bucky croaked. Richard had handpicked the members of their team, it was a shared loss. “Still doesn’t make any damn sense.”

Richard scrubbed a hand over his face. “No, it does not. Fury is raising hell up the chain. Your detachment never should have been there in the first place.”

“Speakin’ of being in the wrong place,” Bucky said. “What gives?”

The look Richard sent his way spoke volumes. “I might be a civilian now, but I still have friends in high places. I went and saw your dads before getting on a plane, by the way. They send their love. To say they’re looking forward to having you home again is the understatement of the century.”

“M’ glad you saw ‘em,” Bucky managed before the tears made a comeback. He would’ve given just about _anything_ to see his dads. It’d be a bunch of jokes, and fussing, and somehow they’d make everything feel right-side-up again through the simple magic of being there. “They holdin’ up okay?”

Richard tilted his head left and right, shrugged. “About as well as can be expected. Steve scared the bejesus out of one of the doctors and managed a call home.”

Bucky cursed under his breath and tried to wipe his face dry on the shoulder of his hospital gown, prompting Richard to pass him a box of tissues. “That make it better or worse?”

“Both, maybe.” Richard looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Anyone tell you they had to post MPs to keep our boy in bed?”

Natasha had given Bucky a proper sitrep as soon as he was lucid enough to comprehend the words. Early on, Steve had ripped out his IVs and gone on walkabout in the hospital in order to track down Bucky, Clint, and Tasha. Bucky had some hazy memories of Steve’s quiet assurances that everything would be okay, of being rocked gently by his brother while freaking the fuck out over not being able to find his arm.

Somewhere in all the chaos, Steve had dragged Clint out of the room, forced him to let the doctors check him out, which was just like the hypocritical fuck. The same doctors were worried about Steve having permanent muscle damage after the beating he’d put himself through in order to save Bucky’s life, but did the asshole stay in bed, let his leg heal up like he was supposed to? Of course not! No, Steve let them think he was done being stupid, then used his IV stand as a crutch and hobbled his way into Bucky’s room.

“Yup, heard all about it.”

Good as it’d been to see Steve, Bucky had been furious. Hadn’t stopped him from crying all over his brother until someone realized Steve had gone AWOL, and dragged him back to his own room.

“He still in full on command mode?” Richard nodded. “Hope you hammered home the idea that none of this was his fault.”

“I did my best, but you know Steve.” Richard sighed, and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “I read the letters he wrote to the families, and they’re about as heartbreaking and earnest as you’d expect. Steve’s love and respect for his soldiers shines through in every word. I can only hope someone does half as good a job for my family whenever my ticket finally gets punched.”

“Keep that to yourself,” Bucky muttered, grabbing for the tissues again. “Last thing Steve needs is to think about losing more people. Do me a favor, when you head back tell Stevie I love him?”

“Will do.”

“And that I’m gonna be real pissed if he does permanent damage to his leg trying to get in to see me.”

Richard nodded. “I’ll keep him out of trouble for you while I’m here.”

Bucky took a deep breath, and tried to get a handle on everything he was feeling. Painful as it was, the physical trauma he’d suffered was easier to deal with than the rest of it. As long as Clint was there, Bucky could cope, which wasn’t fair to Clint at all. They’d both pulled the puppy dog eyes and gotten the nurses on their side, but they were pressing their luck. It was only a matter of time before the Army’s bureaucracy resulted in them being split up, and Bucky had no clue how he was going to handle it when—

“You okay?”

The machines had started beeping like crazy again, prompting Bucky to do some more controlled breathing in an attempt to calm down. Clint was fine, he’d be back any minute, looking all rumpled and put upon by the stupidity of the world. When he showed up, Bucky was gonna kiss him in an attempt to make up for all the years they’d wasted _not_ kissing.

“Hate these stupid things. Freak out the tiniest bit, and everyone in earshot knows. Nurses get pissy if you disconnect ‘em, though.”

“You’re as bad as your brother,” Richard said, and that made Bucky laugh, because no one on the _planet_ was as bad a patient as Captain fucking Rogers. “Fine, maybe not _that_ bad. I’ll see what I can do about getting you in touch with the folks, talk to a few people about smoothing the way on all of your discharge papers.”

“Thanks, Parker.” Bucky was pretty sure he already knew the answer, but had to ask the question anyway, just to be sure. “Think Steve’ll go without a fight?”

Richard’s expression darkened, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when he said, “Not a chance in hell.”

“See if you can soften him up for me, at least.”

“I'll do what I can,” Richard agreed, but he looked about as worried as Bucky felt. “The powers that be are going to want to hold onto him if possible. Fury’s convinced he's going to bounce back, asked me to look over his shortlist for replacements.”

“Yeah, well, Fury can eat my ass,” Bucky snapped. “I'm happy to fight dirty. I'll shoot Nick if I have to. No way I'm letting my brother go out there again without us watching his six.”

And the beeping was back.

“Alright, calm down.” Richard scrubbed a hand through his hair, and shook his head. “The two of you, Jesus.”

“Sorry.”

“Don't be,” Richard sighed. “Deep down, even Steve knows he's done with this life. He'll fight it, but he'll come around eventually, and thank you for it some day.”

“Damn right he will.”

Bucky fumbled with his mostly empty cup of water, prompting Richard to get up in order to grab him a refill. He was still at the sink when Clint strolled back into the room, his put upon expression sliding away as soon he saw Bucky was awake.

“S’up, baby?” Clint said without using any words at all. It was all there in his eyes, in the smartass smile, and the bit of swagger in his stride as he walked over to Bucky's bed.

Once he was close enough, Clint kissed him all sweet and tender and familiar, like they’d been doing it for years. Bucky’s heart turned over in his chest like a dog wanting its belly rubbed. When Clint pulled away, Bucky held up a finger then pointed to his lips, because he was a greedy fucker, and was always going to want _one more_ when it came to anything and everything Clint. Seemed an awful lot like that went both ways, because Clint’s eyes had this special sort of sparkle to them when he kissed Bucky the second time.

A strangled sound of surprise dragged Bucky out of his happy place. “Whoa, what the— When the hell did _this_ happen?”

Clint’s arrival had put everything not-Clint related out of Bucky’s mind, where it belonged. Richard’s mouth was hanging open, and his eyes were wide with shock, but he seemed more confused than disgusted, which was a relief. Bucky was too mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted to handle wanting to punch a friend in the mouth.

“Shit!” Clint had followed Bucky’s line of sight, and jerked in surprise to see that they weren’t alone. “So… Parker’s still here.” He turned back to Bucky, all sheepish when he shouldn't be. It wasn’t like Parker was gonna report them for homosexual conduct. “Oops?”

Bucky shook his head, wished there was some universal gesture for, “I love this fool so much I want the whole world to know.” It must have been written all over his face, because Clint’s smile made it clear he'd picked up on Bucky's absolute lack of shame over the direction they were heading together.

“Felt this way a long time,” Bucky explained to Richard slowly, so Clint could follow along. “Had one hell of a wake up call.”

Richard studied the two of them, then burst out laughing. “Sorry,” he said, wiping at his eyes, and giving Clint's shoulder a squeeze. “I just hurt my brain trying to imagine _anyone else_ walking in here and kissing you, Barnes. Oh man, Romanov called this years ago.”

Bucky grinned, because why not. “Har dee har, laugh it up. I'm slow, okay?”

“Don't blame Bucky,” Clint said, squeezing onto the narrow bed. “I've been told my beauty is intimidating.”

“Yeah it is,” Bucky agreed. He batted his eyelashes at Clint, who blew him a kiss.

“Christ, and I thought you two were bad before.” Richard shook his head. “I don't know if the world is ready.”

This only made Bucky smile wider, because Richard’s tone was all warmth and affection.

“Let me leave you lovebirds to it for now,” he said, still smiling. “Someone has to make sure Steve isn't planning his next big escape. I'll be back, and I'll bring real coffee.”

“Thanks, Parker,” Bucky said, saluting as best he could with an IV stuck in his arm.

“I hope I didn’t hallucinate him saying he’d bring coffee,” Clint muttered, rubbing his eyes. “I want—no, _need_ —all the coffee, Buck. All of it.”

Bucky knew how tired Clint was, how worn thin, but all of a sudden he could see it etched into every inch of Clint, from the slope of his shoulders to the way his hair was sticking up and out of the fresh bandages wrapped around his head. Acting on instinct, Bucky moved to brace himself with his left hand in order to shift over, make more room on the bed so Clint could lie down. Of course, since his arm wasn’t there anymore, all that happened was he lurched that direction, then jerked back in surprise, a wave of nausea and pain whiting out the world for a beat.

“What’re you doing?” Clint cried, reaching for Bucky only to pull his hands back at the last minute.

“Tryin’ to make room.”

Bucky broke out in a sweat, and had to squeeze his eyes shut, do some controlled shallow breathing. Everything hurt. He felt hot, and cold, ached right down in his bones. Bucky could feel every scrape, every bruise, could feel the goddamned blood pounding in his veins. The stitches in his side pulled whenever he shifted or breathed too deep, and the fucking tape around his IV was making his arm itch, but it wasn't like he could _scratch it_ , right, nevermind that he could feel his fucking fingers burning and throbbing and—

“Gonna puke now.”

Clint grabbed something plastic and shoved it in front of Bucky, which was the only reason he didn’t wind up covered in vomit.

“Aw, Buck,” Clint moaned, rubbing a circle between his shoulder blades. “Please don't hurt yourself _more_ , ‘specially not for me.”

“Sorry,” Bucky choked out. He managed to avoid a second go around, eventually found himself back against his pillows, shaking and panting and _fuck_ he wanted this part _over_ , wanted to skip to the end, cause him and Clint holed up in a narrow bed together could be a hell of a lot of fun if only he didn't hurt so bad.

Familiar fingers brushed at Bucky's hair, pushing it off of his damp forehead. “I wanna go home,” Bucky said, and shit, now he was crying again.

“That’s the plan.” Bucky blinked until he could focus again, staring up into Clint's eyes, centering and calming himself. “You gotta heal up, first. Then its back to the real world for us. Bet your folks will let us crash in your old room while we apartment hunt.”

That sounded real good to Bucky. “Sure you're okay with New York?”

“This’ll make me sound like an asshole, but I like your family better than Barney,” Clint said. “Besides, home is you, and you're one of _those_ New Yorkers. Everywhere else comes a distant second.”

“Guilty.” Bucky curled his hand around Clint's wrist. “Test go okay?”

The answer swept across Clint's face before he got any words out, and Bucky wanted to pull him into his arms, give him some comfort. _Arm_. Whatever. It wasn't an option, was the point, so he stroked the soft flesh on the inside of Clint's wrist instead.

“Consider me officially deaf. It might improve a tiny bit once I'm healed up, but, um. Yeah. Hearing aids are an option, but the doc spent a lot of time checking my expectations. Won't ever be like it was, I guess.”

“I'm so sorry, sweetheart,” Bucky said. “That's not fair. I'd take that off your plate for you if I could.”

Clint rolled his eyes, and looked Bucky up and down. “Yeah, cause you don't have any of your own shit to deal with.”

“Point taken.”

“Good thing we came to our senses. No one else is going to want either of our busted asses by the time we get out of here.”

“I'll fight ‘em one handed if anybody tries to put the moves on you.”

Clint laughed, but he also blushed, and wasn't that magic right there? His stupid ass had been flirting with Clint for years, but not once had Bucky made the man blush. And there Clint was, flustered as all get out, looking good enough to eat, when Bucky was in no position to do anything about it. What a fucking dope he was, wasting all that time.

“Love you,” Bucky said, feeling lit up inside by the truth of the words, touched by it in places the pain couldn't reach. “Sorry, you’re gonna get sick of me saying that at some point.”

Clint's expression went steely and serious, the way it did when they were in a tight spot. Like every ounce of his laser focus was aimed right at Bucky, scanning him down to his DNA or something.

“Not ever, Buck,” Clint said. “Not even a chance of that happening. I love you, too.”

It was quiet for a moment while the two of them stared at each other.

“Dumbass,” Clint added before Bucky could go and get all weepy again, which was real good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to everyone expressing excitement in the comments! I know Bucky/Clint isn't the most popular pairing, so I'm pumped that so many of you are invested in the story already. *hugs*


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're super squeamish, brace yourself for a thankfully not-too-detailed conversation about the awful that is being blowed up.

Stretching was awesome. So was sleep. More sleep would be even awesomer, but Clint wasn’t about to complain. According to his watch, he’d racked up _five hours_ , which was a new record.

“One of those biscuit sandwich thingees with the sausage, and two cups of coffee, please,” he mumbled as he stretched. Every time, he had this little niggling hope that he’d actually hear his own dumb voice saying the words, but it was the same as before. Like, the vibrations were there, and Clint _knew_ he was talking, but…

Clint opened his eyes, blinked stupidly at the laptop now resting on his stomach. When he squinted up past the screen, Natasha was staring at him expectantly. She was _really_ good at staring. Clint was the only one in their crew who even came close to being able to hang with Tasha in a staring match, and she still trounced him without fail.

Now she was arching an eyebrow, obviously waiting for him to catch up. Her eyes shifted, indicating the laptop. On the screen was a message. _You need more sleep._

“Meh.” Natasha's eyes narrowed. “I know, but I have to pee, and, um… Bucky could use a look in, right?”

With a sigh, Natasha retrieved the laptop, shifting so she was nestled beside Clint, fingers flying over the keys. Clint had no idea where she'd dug the thing up; it was old, clunky, and the internet access had been disabled. Pretty much the only thing it was good for was word processing. Or, you know, chatting with a deaf dude too tired to effectively read lips any longer, and too new to the whole deaf thing to know sign language.

_Steve stopped by a couple minutes ago on his way to see Bucky. Let's give them time to catch up._

Clint slouched until his head was resting against Natasha’s shoulder, then sighed. “Does not wanting to get anywhere near that little reunion make me a bad boyfriend?”

 _No. Bucky can handle Steve. It’ll go smoother if there isn’t an audience._ Natasha leaned closer, and pressed a kiss to the top of Clint’s head, making him smile despite himself. _Use the time to rest. Bucky’s worried about you._

“Everybody’s worried about everybody,” Clint grumbled. “Speaking of worry, thanks for keeping watch. I’m sure you had other shit you wanted to do.”

 _Don’t be stupid._ Natasha dug a thumb into one of his ticklish spots, making Clint squirm. _You’d do the same for me._ Clint nodded, eyes drooping a bit as Natasha’s fingers moved again. _I dislike hospitals. I dislike losing people I care about. Knowing you, Steve, and Bucky are safe helps me deal with the rest._

Clint shifted, stared up into Natasha’s eyes again. “You saw what happened to them, didn’t you?” The stoic expression shattered for the tiniest of moments, and Clint saw the pain churning away beneath Natasha’s calm exterior. “I’m sorry. This is so fucked up, all of it. I keep waiting for them to show up, you know, for the whole thing to be a big mistake. It might click into place if I saw them—not that I don’t believe you and Cap—but I’m still glad I didn’t have to.”

Natasha nodded and went to type again, but Clint placed his hand over hers. “I saw where Bucky’s arm landed, though, and I keep thinking crazy shit, like if I’d been smart enough to grab it, maybe they could have reattached his arm. But it was pretty messed up, so probably not. But I see it, when I close my eyes. And then I think about, like, the hospital getting bombed? Or… I dunno, something that means we’d have to run again, but if I’m asleep it isn’t like I’d hear the alarms, or—”

Warm fingers pressed against Clint’s lips, silencing him. Nothing good was coming out of his mouth anyway, so it was for the best. Natasha’s eyes were saying a whole lot, enough to make Clint’s chest ache. She leaned over, kissed his forehead this time, and that was it, Clint was sobbing like some overgrown baby. Natasha moved the laptop, and held him all tight, petting his back and hair, let him cry it out.

Clint wasn’t big into crying. Shooting things was way more effective when it came to making himself feel calm, centered, and all around more in control of his life. Crying just made your head hurt, and your nose run, and depending on who was around when you did it, you wound up with a target on your back. This was different. Yeah, he still wanted to be living in some sort of reality where he could grab Bucky, and head to the range, but the tears and fears and frustrations pouring out of Clint and onto Natasha were like poison or acid, and needed to _get out_ before they ate him away.

Everyone said Bucky was going to be fine, but he was running a fever, and the doctors were talking about removing more of his arm. That was fucked up all on its own, so if he factored in his hearing loss, and the understanding that they were gonna kick him out of the hospital any minute now… The thought of being back in the barracks without his friends and without his hearing left Clint scared shitless. Thinking of Bucky all alone in the hospital was even worse. There were still about a hundred thousand things that could go horribly wrong, and so he needed to be there, just in case.

Natasha rocked him gently, and Clint tried to burn through everything churning away in his head and his chest. None of his problems went anywhere, but he felt a hell of a lot better after letting go for a bit.

“I still have to pee,” he said eventually, mostly because he was worried about covering Natasha with snot. Added bonus, the seriousness and grief washed out of Natasha’s expression at the announcement, making it easier for Clint to breathe.

After wiping his face dry on his sleeve, Clint climbed out of the bed, and headed for the bathroom. The light flickered while he was in there, which was annoying, but in keeping with the way his thoughts were still jumping around.

Steve was going to try to stay in the Army. Everyone knew it, and thinking about it made Clint’s stomach drop like he was on a rollercoaster. Bucky was determined not to let it happen, but depending on how that little confrontation played out, there was every chance Steve was going to be pissed with all of them for a while. A pissed Steve was _not good_.

Bucky hadn’t seen how turned around Steve was, not really. Clint had. Cap was walking a tightrope over a ravine at the moment, and just about anything could tip him the wrong way, sending him plummeting to his doom. And if Bucky’s tough love, all guns blazing approach to getting Steve to leave the Army backfired, and Steve fucking went into full on stubborn ass territory…

Either way, this was going to be Steve’s last deployment.

Clint shook his head as if he could shake the thoughts loose, get them out of there. He did not want to think about losing Steve, and he especially didn’t want to think on how Bucky would or would not cope with something that catastrophic. Hell, Clint was scared to even _think_ the word suicide for fear that Steve might see it in his eyes, and get inspired. Steve was family, had been for years, and… and…

“Shut _up_ , Barton,” he shouted at the tiled walls. “Fuck!”

When he stepped back into the room, Natasha was waiting for him with her ‘I see, hear, and know everything’ eyes.

“Hey. I love you, Tasha. If any of this shit had to happen… Oh man, I’m some kind of _asshole_! I can’t stop thinking ‘bout how glad I am it was _us_ who made it back. This is such a shitshow—I’m not even counting the deaf thing—but mostly, like, they were my _friends_. I shouldn’t be glad about any part of this, which is why I want to smack myself, ‘cause I’m so fucking happy I still have _Bucky_ , and _you_ and _Steve_.”

“I know,” her lips said, and, “I love you, too, Clint.”

Natasha crossed the room, snagged his wrist, and dragged him back over to the bed, pushing on his shoulders to make him sit down. Clint didn’t fight her on it. He was full on freaking out, mostly because he knew Natasha could handle it, while Bucky could not. Not yet anyway. It’d be a whole different story once Bucky was healed up, and they were in New York.

“You should cry on me, too, Tash,” he said, sniffling. “We can take turns, okay?”

There was another message waiting for him when he looked up again.

 _Don’t beat yourself up. I feel the same way. They would feel the same way if they’d been the ones to survive._ Clint knew she was right, but that didn’t make him feel like any less of a creep. Natasha continued typing. _I’ll take you up on that offer later._

“Okay.”

_Buddy system. I’m sleeping in here tonight._

Clint opened his mouth to protest, but then saw the look on Natasha’s face, and felt stupid. Hadn’t he just offered to return the favor when it came to support? She was probably having as much trouble sleeping in the hospital as he was. “Buddy system. Thanks.”

He hadn’t realized how rigid Natasha was until the tension eased out of her body. Her fingers hovered above the keys for a long moment, as if she was having some sort of internal debate.

_Fury offered me my own command._

Their eyes met, and Clint went very still. His first thought was to go find Nick Fury, and punch him in the dick. It wasn’t as if Natasha hadn’t earned a command of her own—she totally had—it was the idea that Fury had held onto it to use as bait, or something. Second was that Natasha would fucking _kick ass_ at command.

“Oh.” Clint winced, and hung his head. Lame, lame, _lame_. “Uh, that's not a bad _oh_. It's more— You’d be real good! The best. That kind of _oh_.”

Thankfully, Natasha had started typing while he was still babbling. _I told him no. Parker confirmed he can get Steve and I honorable discharges if we want them. I like that offer better._

Relief washed through Clint from the top of his head down to his toes, prompting him to flop backward onto the bed, heart racing. “Oh, thank fuck! You’d be awesome, honest, but thinking of you over here by yourself makes me want to puke.” Natasha squeezed his thigh, and when he looked up, Clint found her smiling. “I’m gonna stay with Bucky’s folks while we look for a place. I’m sure you could, too. Hell, we could all get a place together until we figure things out.”

Natasha’s smile was out of step with the look in her eyes. _Pretty sure you and Bucky are going to need a place of your own. Privacy is a thing, Hawkeye._

Sticking together was a thing, too. Clint had spent a lot of time living with these people, so the offer hadn’t seemed weird, until Tasha had to go and mention privacy. His pervert brain pounced on the word, lighting up the inside of his head with all sorts of ideas as to how he and Bucky could put some privacy to good use. Like, it was not even fair, because Buck was really hurting, and so it was _wrong_ to be thinking of sexing him up, probably. Only, Clint had years of logged spankbank material, and the realization that once they had _privacy_ , he could actually act on the fantasies was a bit too much to handle rationally.

“Super gay sunset,” Clint blurted, blushing a moment later when Natasha started laughing. “Shut up, this is all weird, and new.”

She typed, and then held the laptop up for him. _Right. New._ Clint couldn’t really argue, so he opted to shrug instead. _I’ll come to New York. We’ll figure things out together._

“Yeah? Promise?” Natasha nodded, and Clint sighed with relief. “Good. I don’t want… I _can’t_ think too far ahead. I start getting all panicky, and sick feeling. What the hell am I gonna do for a job? I’m pretty much only good at hitting targets, watching your backs, and loving Bucky. No one's gonna pay me for that.”

Natasha stroked his cheek with her knuckles, looking sad and sympathetic. _I’m worried too. One day at a time, Clint. Let’s get home first._

Clint gave himself another minute or so to quietly panic, then nodded, and pushed it aside. Scary or not, at least they were alive, and had the luxury of freaking out over the future. Their friends hadn’t been so lucky, so it was up to them to… to live. To _really_ live, never take any of it for granted again.

If he didn’t want some future where they went their separate ways, then it was up to Clint to help make sure that was the kind of life they had. Bucky would help, so he wouldn’t even have to go it alone. That more than anything was… Well, it was _everything_ , wasn’t it?

Closing his eyes, Clint tried to imagine. A little one bedroom apartment, him and Bucky wedged together on the couch, working their way through a six pack while watching _Blade Runner_. He’d be allowed to stare at Bucky as much as he wanted without having to worry about it being weird, and maybe Bucky would feel him doing it, and smirk. Easy enough to imagine getting teased for being a sap, and he’d tease right back, because the looks Bucky had been giving him since waking up in the hospital were something else. Clint would be able to hold him without having to worry about accidentally hurting Bucky, hold him real tight, kiss him deep, get him hot and bothered, slide a hand into his pants, and…

Yeah, he was not alone, which meant he needed to stop thinking about groping Bucky ASAP.

“Hey, Natasha, if I’m ever stupid enough to jeopardize this thing with Buck, promise you’ll knock some sense into me?”

Natasha smiled sweetly, which was always way scarier than it had any right to be, and held her hand out to shake. “I’ve got your back,” she said, forming the words slowly, “but you won’t need it.”

“Cause I love him too much to ever hurt him?” Clint asked while shaking her hand. Tasha nodded. “Good point.”

Deep down, Clint knew Natasha was right. The thing between him and Bucky wasn’t like any of his previous relationships. Bucky would always come first, but it’d be okay, because Bucky would put Clint first, too. Between the two of them, they’d be in good shape. Bucky would never have to ask Clint to open up, let down his guard, or share all the good and bad shit running through his head; he’d been sharing himself with Bucky for years. They were best friends, so there was nothing to be scared about, just a hell of a lot to look forward to.

Like blowjobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww, so much love already flowing in for these two! YAY WINTERHAWK! And look, Natasha! :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Rogers has a _little_ trouble adjusting to the change in Bucky and Clint's relationship. Bucky might have a long history of thinking dirty thoughts about Clint. He also has the fun task of talking his brother into saying goodbye to the Army.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, and counted down from ten before opening them again. Steve was still sitting ramrod straight in his wheelchair, hair combed in a perfect little part, all clean shaven, and trying his damndest not to look at where Bucky's arm used to be.

“One more time?” Bucky asked.

Steve sighed. Sort of. It was more a subtle exhalation of impatience through his nose, which was the equivalent of a sigh for him when he was in Captain mode.

“I’m attempting to ascertain whether you and Barton have thought this through.”

It was the fever, had to be, because the conversation they were having didn’t make any damn sense.

“Lemme get this straight,” Bucky said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re seriously lecturin’ me on—”

“I asked a question,” Steve interrupted, “how is that lecturing?”

Bucky waited for a moment, holding Steve’s steady gaze, but nothing more was forthcoming. Tempting as it was to get snippy, Bucky bit his tongue, and tried again. “We’ve thought it through.”

“The two of you discussed the implications and ramifications of changing the nature of your relationship?” Steve’s voice might have been even keel, but his eyes were a different story. “Did this conversation happen before or after the incident?”

Difficult as it was, Bucky managed to keep a hold of his calm. Under different circumstances, he’d have started shouting already, but that wasn’t going to get him anywhere, not when Steve was in this state of mind.

“After.”

Steve nodded. “Exactly. Neither of you are thinking clearly at the moment. Once the dust has settled, you’re going to regret sullying a valued friendship, and that doesn’t even touch on the implications this has for your military career.”

“Sullying,” Bucky repeated to himself, grinding a thumb against his temple, trying to push away the haze that accompanied the fever.

“Depending on how awkward this gets, you and Clint might find yourselves not ever wanting to see each other again. Is that really worth the risk?”

“Clint’s worth everything.”

This time Steve sighed one of his more typical, world-weary sighs, shaking his head. “That’s not any kind of answer, Buck.”

“Sure it is,” Bucky countered. “You’re just not _listening_. There’s no risk, Stevie.”

“Neither of you are homosexuals,” Steve snapped, somehow sitting up even straighter. “When two straight men suddenly decide, ‘Oh, hey, let’s be friends with benefits,’ there’s a pretty big risk it’s going to blow up in their faces.”

As Bucky watched, the blood seemed to drain from Steve’s face. “ _Shit_ , Buck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up,” Bucky said, wishing for about the thousandth time that he wasn’t stuck in a hospital bed. Steve needed a good shake, but Bucky was in no shape to give him one. “I know you didn’t mean it like _that_ , Steve, come on.”

Steve looked like he was doing his best kicked puppy impression, which was a bummer, but Bucky wasn’t above taking advantage of the wind being knocked out of Steve’s sails.

“Can you do me a favor, and listen for a minute?” Bucky asked. Steve nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. “This isn’t some friends with benefits experiment, it’s a real deal, ‘til the day I die, true love situation, Steve. Zero risk.”

“But—”

“Stop it with the buts,” Bucky growled. “Of all the people I know, the last one I expected hassle from over loving a _fella_ was you!”

At least Steve had the decency to look embarrassed. “That's not… this is different.”

“How the hell is it different?”

“Okay, so you're telling me if I'd walked in here and announced Natasha and I were—”

Bucky laughed—couldn't help himself—then pressed against the stitches in his side, as if that could ease the pain. “I'd call you crazy, and you know it, ‘cause you love Tasha like she’s your little sister. There ain’t a lick of romance between you two.”

Steve was scowling, which was never good. “Right, and there's romance between you and Clint?” he countered. “The two of you have been carrying on like long lost brothers since the day you met. I’d know, I was there.”

Well, at least he'd dropped the ‘Barton’ nonsense. “I’ve been in love with that man for years, Steve. Pretty sure that’s obvious to anyone who knows us.”

“I love my friends, too, that doesn't mean I'm going to have sex with them!”

“If you’re expecting me to freak out over Clint's dick, you’re gonna be waitin’ a long time.”

Steve opened and closed his mouth, then scrubbed his hands over his face. Yeah, he was getting all pissy, but he was sounding less _command_ every minute, which was better than nothing.

“Look, I don't want to see you two throw away years of friendship because of a traumatic experience. I'm sure it seems like you're being rational at the moment, but once you’re out of the hospital—”

“I'll feel the same,” Bucky insisted. “I swear, sometimes talkin’ with you is like bashing my head against a brick wall.”

Watching the hurt expression overpower Steve's obvious frustration left Bucky feeling like an ass. However misguided, Steve's intentions were always good, especially where Bucky was concerned. Thing was, Bucky hadn’t expected to be arguing over Clint; he still needed to convince Steve to say goodbye to the Army. If he pushed too hard, Steve would shut down on him, roll right out of the room, and it’d be twice as tough to talk some sense into the stubborn ass.

“Hey, I’m sorry, Steve. I don't wanna argue. I'm tired, and was kind of expecting congratulations from you, not whatever this is.”

Steve swallowed, and took a deep breath. “It's not that I disapprove of Clint. You know that, right?” Bucky nodded, and Steve relaxed infinitesimally. “I've been where you are, wanting friendship to be enough to make a romantic relationship work. If Peggy hadn't been so understanding, that would have been the end for us. You and Clint are like brothers, and I don’t want to see—”

“You keep sayin’ that, but we’re nothing like brothers,” Bucky said. Steve opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again when Bucky held up his hand. “Lemme ask you something first. When you and Peggy were dating, did you think about her while jerking off?”

“C’mon, Buck,” Steve sputtered, turning bright pink. “What kind of question is that?”

“A serious one.” Bucky waited a beat, but Steve seemed disinclined to answer, which was answer enough. “I’ll take that as a no, then?” Steve clenched his jaw so hard Bucky expected to hear his teeth cracking, but he didn’t argue. “Well, I’ve thought about Clint while jacking it. Hell, Clint took center stage in my jerkoff fantasies about two years ago.”

Bucky knew the day and everything, because of an unexpected bit of R&R they’d been given after a particularly grueling assignment. They were off base for a change, with permission to act like a couple of civilians, meaning Steve had given them the all clear to hit the bars as long as they weren’t in uniform.

Most of their unit made an early night of things, but Clint and Bucky had found a dart board, and were waging war against each other. Bucky figured getting a couple more drinks in Clint was required to make things fair—the man’s aim was uncanny—so between matches he’d headed to the bar on a mission to get Clint shitfaced.

A drop dead gorgeous blonde with legs for days slid onto the stool beside him, and Bucky found himself operating on autopilot, flashing his very best smile, and asking her name. Flirting came natural, and Bucky hadn’t had a chance to chat anyone up in a while, so he carried on, not expecting it to go anywhere. Claire didn’t seem to mind, played along with a sly smile while they waited on the bartender. She almost immediately called him out on being military, and he managed to deduce that she was a nurse. It was all a bit of fun, up until she leaned in close, breasts pressing against his arm, and asked what his plans were for the rest of the evening.

The thing was, Bucky hadn’t gotten laid in _forever_ , and she was just his type. Curvy and clever, with a playful sense of humor, and a sweet smile. Since he lacked a grasp of the fucking obvious, Bucky didn’t stop to question why he wished her eyes were blue instead of brown, or why he thought she’d be prettier with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to follow her somewhere private for a bit of x-rated fun before he had to return to the dust and dirt of his everyday existence, but Bucky didn’t like the idea of abandoning Clint.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder in time to spot Clint watching them with a lost, almost heartbroken aspect to his expression. It vanished in a flash, replaced by an unnatural smile. Clint nodded in Bucky’s direction, raised his eyebrows, and gave him a double thumbs up before reaching for his jacket. Which was _no damn good_. Bucky didn’t want Clint to go anywhere, so he shook his head in the negative, held up a finger, then turned back to his new friend.

“Sorry, Claire, but I’m here with someone.”

Claire leaned around Bucky and checked Clint out, then smiled, and pointed to a table in the corner where two other girls were watching them. “So am I. He’s cute, why not bring him along? I’m sure my friend Rachel would be interested in getting to know him.”

Bucky had no idea what Clint’s opinion on the matter would be, but the idea of anyone putting their hands on Clint left Bucky wanting to _puke_. The reaction was sudden and visceral, had him grinding his teeth, and grabbing the four bottles of overpriced beer he’d ordered.

“See, thing is, he's all mine,” Bucky said sweetly, “and I'm not interested in sharing.”

“Well alright then,” Claire said, sharing a conspiratorial smile. “You two boys have a nice evening.”

Clint looked surprised when Bucky strolled back with their drinks. “What happened?” He accepted Bucky’s offering of beer, and took a long pull from one of the bottles. “From over here it looked like a sure thing.”

“Appearances are deceiving, Hawkeye. Afraid you're stuck with me all night.” Bucky draped an arm around Clint's shoulders, and on impulse, kissed his cheek. “Besides, hands down you're the prettiest person in this place.”

Clint snorted, and sent a dart sailing through the air, hitting the bullseye without breaking eye contact with Bucky. “Duh.”

Throughout the rest of the evening, Bucky stuck close, finding reasons to touch Clint, feeling Claire's eyes on them from time to time. Clint didn't seem to mind the attention in the least, which was a very good thing.

Eventually, they staggered back to the room they were sharing, Clint's soft, familiar snoring filling the silence moments after he flopped down on his bunk. Bucky tried, but couldn't sleep. His brain was alive and _itching_ , running over the night, trying to figure out why the hell he felt so out of sorts.

Since he had relative privacy for a change, Bucky figured jerking off might help him on his way to sleep. Behind his eyes, he conjured up Claire, only he gave her blue eyes, and those missing freckles. It started simple enough, with his hand on the outside of her thigh, sliding up under her skirt while pulling her in close. She was soft, and sweet in his arms, big breasts heaving against his chest as they kissed. Palming his dick through his underwear, Bucky imagined pulling her to the edge of the barstool, wrapping those long legs around his waist.

He thought of Claire’s throaty laugh, and her pretty mouth, kissed her deep and dirty, rolling his hips so she could feel how hard he was. Bucky stroked himself with a bit more purpose, one hand sneaking under his shirt to pinch a nipple. He thought of blue, blue eyes—the sort that saw everything—sunburn and freckles, and a lopsided smile. That smile drove him crazy, almost as crazy as when Clint got all sweaty, and took his helmet off, and his hair stuck out every which way. And how the hell did the man smell so good when soaked in sweat, anyway? It made no damn sense. Clint had smelled _really_ good that night, and maybe Bucky had taken advantage of them being tipsy, and buried his nose in Clint’s hair while they were walking back to their room, breathing deep with his eyes closed.

Somewhere in there, Bucky had shoved his underwear aside, had himself in hand properly, was stroking away, thinking of Clint tucked under his arm, of kissing his cheek, letting his lips slide along Clint’s jaw, down to his mouth, and— Bucky opened his eyes and let go of his dick, because _what the fuck was he doing_!

Bucky tried again, determined, bypassing Claire and the bar, conjuring up some of his favorite dirty little scenarios, but his brain betrayed him again, the scene shifting, so he was back playing darts, watching Clint bring a bottle of beer to his lips, watching the hypnotizing pulse in his throat as he tipped his head back and _swallowed_. Bucky’s cock jumped in his hand, showing its wholehearted approval.

Wrong, it was so wrong, bad bad _bad_ , because Clint was in the room with him, was snoring away in the other bed, blissfully unaware of what his best friend was thinking and doing. It was probably because he was drunk, and hadn’t been laid in forever, and they spent literally all of their time together. Or, maybe the problem was that he was fighting his brain? If he just let the thoughts play out, it would only be a matter of time before Clint was replaced by one of his other dream lovers.

Clint’s mouth, then, that little sardonic twist to his lips, cupping his jaw and dragging him into a kiss, and in his mind he and Clint were all but wrestling each other to decide who the hell was in charge of the fantasy, until Bucky had his back against the wall, no one in the bar paying the least bit of attention to what was going on over by the dart board. He tried to turn the tables, but Clint planted a hand against the center of his chest, held him in place, and Bucky’s dick liked that idea very much, too. Clint was strong, sturdy, and Bucky had actually had those arms around him in the real world before. Knew just how it would feel if Clint held him tight.

Fantasy Clint kissed rough, and dirty, but joyful, eyes crinkled up at the edges, biting down into Bucky’s lower lip, and grinding against his thigh. Which, _fuck_ , the thought of getting Clint hard was _crazy hot_. Bucky grabbed handfuls of Fantasy Clint’s ass, pulled him in tight, so as to grind against him. In his mind, they fought each other a bit in the process of getting their pants open, laughing and shoving and it was so _vivid_.

Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he was so worked up over his own goddamned imagination. It took every last bit of self control to keep quiet. He chewed on his lower lip, feeling hot, and sweaty, and already close to shooting off, so he let go of his dick long enough to pull off his shirt, and double check that Clint was still asleep. This accomplished, Bucky closed his eyes, and yeah, back against the wall, Clint’s mouth on his, hot and hungry, and now both of his hands were pinned above his head, and it was _Clint’s_ hand around his cock, and _fucking hell_ , that was it, Bucky was gone, gone, gone, hand slapped over his mouth to stifle the noises of surprise and pleasure he made as he came.

Probably he should have felt guilty, but instead, Bucky had grinned up at the ceiling until his breathing evened out, cleaned up the mess, and curled up on his side, watching Clint sleep before eventually drifting off himself.

Two years, one month, and a handful of days had passed since that first time. Bucky’s other dream lovers had packed their bags, and retired to Florida or something, because it’d been nothing but Clint since.

Which was why Steve’s insistence that the two of them were like brothers was really, _really_ disturbing. If Steve knew half the shit that ran through Bucky's mind when he was around Clint, he'd be in a better position to enjoy the absurdity of his argument.

Despite his obvious discomfort, Steve was able to look him in the eye again, seemed confused and conflicted. “Have you… _been_ with a guy. Ever?”

“Nope,” Bucky said. “Er, well, okay, I _kissed_ a guy once, but that was while playin’ spin the bottle back in 7th grade. My eye was on that cute redhead Karen, from up the block.”

“I remember Karen,” Steve said. “I also remember all of your _other_ girlfriends, and the women you’ve been with since. Then there’s all the girls I don’t know about, Buck, which is why I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around you giving up women to be with Clint Barton.”

“Bisexuality is a thing,” Bucky felt the need to point out. “And don’t you ever say Clint’s name to me like he’s a consolation prize. He’s the love of my goddamned life.”

Steve’s eyes were wide, and he looked a little like he’d been sucker punched. Probably it was the vehemence in Bucky’s voice, or the tears rolling down his cheeks, despite his best attempts to remain calm.

“I get where you’re comin’ from, honest, but I’m done being scared of stupid _what ifs_ , Steve,” Bucky growled, trying and failing to get a hold of himself. “Worrying about Clint not feelin’ the same way, or it being a phase I was going through, not wantin’ to risk getting kicked out of the Army over something that could’ve been a side effect of… of battle? Truth is, I was a fuckin’ coward, plain and simple. I talked myself out of following my heart every single day, and for what?”

The machines were beeping again, prompting Steve to roll his wheelchair closer, grab hold of Bucky’s hand. “I’m sorry, Bucky, I—”

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice cracked, and he sucked in a painful, shuddering breath. “I came real close to dying in Clint’s arms.” Steve’s grip tightened to the point of pain, but Bucky didn’t mind, kind of appreciated the anchor to reality. “All my bullshit reasons for playin’ it safe didn’t matter anymore. The truth was right there. I’d known it the whole time, and done _nothing_. I don’t _ever_ want to feel that kind of regret again, Steve, it was bad—real fuckin’ bad—like end of the world bad!”

“Alright,” Steve said, nodding frantically. He’d lost control of his mask of calm, and Bucky could see the despair, the fear, the grief and guilt running wild through Steve, leaving him pale, and wide eyed. “You won’t have to, Bucky. I promise.”

Bucky felt that familiar panic grasping at his heart again, and wanted to send Steve to find Clint, bring him back to Bucky's room. Wanted to touch him, look into his eyes, smell him, hold on and never let go, not for a second.

“I’m lucky, Stevie, I’m _really_ fucking lucky. Thanks to you, we have a second chance,” Bucky said, needing to remind himself as much as Steve. “Clint loves me as much as I love him. We’re movin’ in together once we get back to New York, and then it’s happily ever after, so you don’t need to worry. Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve agreed. “That sounds real nice, Buck.”

And, sure, it was a bit of a dick move to take advantage of the state Steve was in, but Bucky pushed onward, while he still had the strength to argue. “You should stay with us until you find your own place.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing as he let go of Bucky’s hand. “What are you talking about?” Whether intentional or not, Steve had slipped back into his command voice.

“You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about,” Bucky said, not backing down. “Parker secured honorable discharges for you and Tasha, so we’re _all_ going home.”

“The Army _is_ home.”

“Bull _shit_ it is,” Bucky countered. “Brooklyn’s home. All the people we love are home, which is why we’re gonna stick together. Right?”

“It's not that simple,” Steve insisted.

“Yeah, Steve, it really is.”

Bucky could almost see the gears turning behind Steve's eyes, and it made him want to scream.

“I'm healing up fine,” Steve said, sounding anything but. “Doctors expect a full recovery. Fury—”

“Can go fuck himself,” Bucky interrupted, regretting it when he saw the flush of indignation color Steve's face. “Insubordination, I know, calm down. All I'm sayin’ is—”

“There's still work to be done, Bucky. I'll be back on my feet soon enough, and then I'm resuming my command.”

The fingers on Bucky's nonexistent left hand cramped up, a there and gone again sensation. Better than the burning, still disconcerting as fuck, yet somehow less troubling than the look in his brother's eyes.

“Please don't fight me on this, Steve,” Bucky said once he trusted his voice. It still came out shaky and pathetic, but maybe that was for the best. “You've done more than your share. Let someone else carry that weight now, huh?”

Steve sucked air in through his teeth like he'd been punched in the stomach, pain cascading across his face. Bucky watched Steve cover his mouth with a shaking hand, and wondered what the hell he’d said to get that kind of reaction.

“Stevie? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Steve croaked, not meeting Bucky's eyes. He took a couple deep breaths and almost managed to school his features. “I should go. Let you get some rest.”

“Don't go.” Bucky made a wild, painful grab, and managed to snag Steve’s robe as he began to wheel away. “Please?”

Steve stopped, but kept his eyes on the door. “I can come back tomorrow.”

Which was true, sure, but every last one of Bucky's instincts were screaming at him, demanding he keep Steve in that room.

“Stay. Please, Steve, I _need_ you to stay.” Bucky tightened his grip on the robe, not that it'd do him any good if Steve was determined to leave. He was weak as a kitten, and they both knew it. “Don’t you leave me, not while I’m stuck in this bed and can’t go after you!”

For a long, awful moment, Bucky was dead certain his brother wasn't going to listen, was going to give him some empty platitudes, and leave, and if that happened…

“It's okay, Buck,” Steve said, “I'm not going anywhere.”

Relief hit him hard, but it wasn’t enough, not nearly. “Hey, look at me.” Steve did, and Bucky wished he had some sort of line into Steve’s thoughts, because whatever was going on in the man’s head was not good, not by a longshot. “Remember the orphanage, and how we’d all take turns dreamin’ up long lost relatives, telling stories about what would happen when someone came to get us out of that place?” Steve nodded. “You’re the only kid I know who always made room for someone else in their bright and shiny future. It was always ‘me an’ Bucky’ with you, every single time. You remember that?”

Steve nodded, took a deep breath, and said, “Yeah, Buck. I remember.” He swallowed, mouth trembling, but there was a little more life in his eyes when he added, “Seem to recall all your stories involved the two of us hopping a freight train to have adventures.”

“I was a loudmouthed kid who was too old, and too much trouble,” Bucky said, smiling. “No one was gonna adopt me. Besides, I found a brother, which was more than I ever expected to get out of life.”

“I don’t remember anyone coming up with a five dads scenario,” Steve said after a moment, making Bucky laugh, despite the pain.

“Yeah, that was too fuckin’ crazy to predict.” Bucky held out his hand, relieved when Steve took hold of it without hesitation. “Kind of seems to be the theme for us. Too crazy to predict. I know… right now _sucks_ , Steve, it hurts, and nothin’ about any of it is fair, but the truth is, this is temporary.” Steve squeezed his eyes shut, tried to let go of Bucky’s hand, so Bucky held on tighter. “Come on, look at me. Some day, all of this is gonna be a memory, Steve. A really shitty one, yeah, but we’ll get through it as long as we all stick together.”

“Buck—”

“I love you,” Bucky said, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “You’re my brother, the only one I got, and I need you in my life. I can’t… I can’t handle it if you stay here, you understand me?”

Steve opened his mouth, but no words followed.

“I’m not fuckin’ kidding, Steve, it’ll eat away at me every minute of every day.”

“That’s not fair,” Steve said.

“Fuck fair,” Bucky snapped, gesturing to the left half of his body. “This ain’t fair either, but it’s a small price to pay for a do over at life.”

Steve's jaw was tight, lips pressed into a thin line, but he held Bucky's gaze, didn't let go of his hand. “I don't… The Army is the only life I know, Bucky.”

“No it ain't,” Bucky insisted, “it's just the one you've been living. We're still young, we’ll figure something else out. Hell, be a cop or a firefighter if you need the adrenaline rush, but do it back home in Brooklyn with me, Clint, and Tasha. Richard and Mary are already back, I'm sure he could help set us up with work if we needed it.”

Bucky could see the tide shifting in Steve's eyes and pressed on. “Our dads are getting older. If you think they're gonna so much as sleep through the night if you stay here after _this_ , you're crazy. Same for me. I'm gonna have that regret sitting ugly and heavy in my chest again. I want to find a bit of happiness with Clint, but that ain't happening if you stay here. I’ll be too busy worrying about you. Steve?”

“I hear you,” Steve said, sounding like the weight of the world was pressing down on him. At the same time, there was something like relief in his eyes. “Jerk.”

“Biggest jerk of them all,” Bucky agreed. “But I love you like crazy. You and me, right, ‘til the end of the line?”

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve choked out, ducking his head. Bucky wondered if Steve was thinking of the kids they’d been, scrawny and scrappy, spitting in their palms and making adult promises to each other, not knowing what life had in store for them. “Until the end of the line, just like we promised.”

“Go on and be mad at me if you want,” Bucky suggested.

“I'm not mad,” Steve said. “I love you. I'd do anything for you, you know that. It's only… _Shit_. The idea of…”

“I know. I'm scared, too. We’ll figure it out when we get there.” Bucky let go of Steve's hand long enough to stroke his hair, careful not to mess it up too bad. Steve's eyes were like two bottomless pits when he raised his head. “So that's a promise, then, you're taking the discharge?”

Steve swallowed, and shook his head, a tiny defeated movement. “It's a promise.”

“Thank you,” Bucky managed before bursting into tears.

Steve clambered out of the wheelchair, and then Bucky was being held, relief and joy and maybe even some misery rushing through him in waves.

“It'll get better,” Bucky swore, voice choked with tears. “You'll see, Steve, there's a whole other life waiting for you, too.”

Bucky didn't know how long they stayed that way, only that he couldn't fight the exhaustion any longer, had to close his eyes.

“ _This_ is what being brothers feels like,” he murmured against Steve's shoulder as he let himself drift away, safe and warm in his brother's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's Steve, and he's super well adjusted! WAIT. No. The opposite of that. >____>;;;;


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is back in the United States. Bucky is not. Okay, this looks bad... At least Clint makes a new friend?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up. Clint has a big panicky moment in this chapter, so if descriptions of that sort are triggering, please brace yourself. He'll be okay, no worries.

Being back in New York was supposed to be a good thing. Mostly, it sucked, but that had more to do with Clint's state of mind than anything else. Positivity wasn’t his strong suit at the moment, but he was still trying.

Good things about New York so far: unlimited internet access; no one shooting at him; pizza whenever he wanted; Bucky's family was really nice; not having to shave; snow.

Despite what Bucky thought, winter in New York was a joke compared to Iowa. Clint had already been partial to winter _before_ having to regularly load himself down with thirty plus pounds of gear in order to play hurry up and wait in 100-degree weather. Thanks to the Army, he wanted to skip around in the snow and serenade the fluffy white shit.

Under different circumstances, it was exactly the kind of day Clint would have enjoyed. Snow was awesome if you were warm and watching it happen. Or sledding. Snowball fights were also on his approved activities list, especially with Bucky on your team, since he wasn't above fighting dirty. Added bonus, when he got too cold, Bucky tended to huddle up in an attempt to leech Clint’s warmth.

Too bad the circumstances weren’t different. They _sucked_ , no matter how hard Clint tried to spin them otherwise. Enjoyment wasn’t an option, but moping around inside wasn’t any better. As it was he spent most of his time holed up in Bucky’s room, and if he kept it up, the Howlies were going to say something to Cap, and then it’d get back to Bucky, and Clint didn’t want him worrying.

So, outside, in the snow.

Clint didn’t mind shoveling, so he’d volunteered, not realizing he’d have to fight Bucky’s dads for the privilege. Apparently Steve and Bucky weren’t the only stubborn guys in the family; it was probably a prerequisite for membership. Clint only won the argument by pretending not to understand what they were saying, opting to grab a shovel and head outside with a wave, instead.

The part of Flatbush the Howlies lived in was really nice, and full of really nice people, the sort who shouted greetings and wanted to make small talk when they saw you, so Clint popped in a pair of earbuds before getting started. The cords were bright purple, and hard to miss, so hopefully the neighbors would assume he didn't hear them because he had music cranked, and not because he couldn’t hear _anything_. Not that he expected them to give him a hard time for being deaf. Mostly, he didn’t want to deal with the information exchange required to get everybody on the same page.

People kept thanking him for his service, which was fine and all, but… Then the questions started. No one had outright asked if he’d killed anybody— _yet_ —but they all wanted to know what it was like “over there,” which was annoying. There wasn’t a good answer. If he mentioned any of the good bits, they looked at him funny, and wanted to hear about the bad stuff. If he opened with, “Me and my friends got blowed up pretty bad,” people got this weird look in their eyes, as if waiting for him to pull out a gun, and start shooting up the place. It only got worse when they found out he was deaf, their facial expressions shifting over to painfully sympathetic. After that it was awkward, because somehow they still managed to forget, and talk too fast, or at the same time, or _something_ so that he couldn’t follow the fucking conversation.

Whatever, wearing the headphones made him feel less vulnerable, so he was doing it, and that was that.

As he shoveled, Clint felt like everyone was watching him from inside their houses, and cars. They weren’t. Probably. Or maybe they were? He would have, if the roles were reversed. Not for nefarious reasons, but for practical ones. Bucky’s dads had two sons go off to war, and then years later, some other weirdo veteran comes back home instead of their kids. That’d confuse anyone.

For the first week back or so, Clint had figured the fishbowl feeling was because of his deafness, but on the upside, Natasha was _also_ experiencing the creepy crawls, so Clint wasn’t alone. Of course, this came with a corresponding downside; feeling like the world’s biggest jerk for being happy she was dealing with some of the same shit. Still, that probably meant it was normal. Well, as normal as could be expected for them at the moment.

What it boiled down to was this: Clint was so accustomed to being ready for anything that the absence of danger felt ominous as fuck. He was in New York, the least someone could do was try to mug him so he could feel justified over being on high alert.

_Stupid, lazy criminals._

Clint paused mid-shovel. Huh. Was it a bad sign that he wanted someone to try to mug him? Probably. With a sigh, he carried on, trying to find something to feel positive about.

Right, so, other good things about New York: all of the coffee; more privacy; 24/7 convenience stores; no one making him run; smartphones.

Cell phones had been shit back when he’d enlisted, and Clint hadn’t needed one while living the Army life. Email was good enough for keeping in touch with his brother, and the people he _really_ wanted to talk to were within easy reach, even when they weren’t on active duty. Now that he was deaf, a phone was the last thing Clint would have thought to buy. Lucky for him, Bucky knew better, so an early Christmas present in the form of a top of the line smartphone had been waiting for Clint when he showed up in New York.

The Howlies texted instead of coming upstairs and knocking, the vibrate feature enough to wake Clint up, or get his attention if he was already awake. Sending texts was easy as hell now, and his new favorite way to communicate. He could do email through the phone, too, and there was a notepad feature, so he could have someone type a message out for him if he was having trouble figuring out what they were saying. Clint had even had some fun with the camera, sending off photos to Bucky’s email, so they’d be there waiting for him when he was able to get to a computer again.

On impulse, Clint pulled off his gloves, and fished out the phone, checking to see if he’d gotten anything from Steve or Bucky. Nothing since the last update over a week ago.

_No news is good news, right? Ugh._

Positives, positives… Bucky’s dads were awesome cooks; they acted like he belonged there; they didn’t make a big deal out of him sleeping in the closet.

Not that he’d been doing a lot of sleeping. Back in the hospital, the sleeplessness made sense, what with being recently blown up and needing to keep an eye on Bucky and all. Back at base, too, because of all the obvious, awful reasons. After finding himself once more on American soil, Clint chalked some of it up to time zone differences, then the excuse was not being used to Bucky’s bed, or living in a normal house.

Now, he’d run out of excuses for why he couldn’t sleep. Clint wasn’t sure why he was even bothering trying to come up with them since it was pretty fucking obvious he had PTSD. Tasha could pretend all she wanted—it was _not_ a “simple adjustment period”—Clint was sort of resigned to the diagnosis, and over pretending at this point. Clint was _also_ over feeling like a zombie, so he’d decided to roll with it, and figure out a way to get a bit of shut eye, even if the solution made him look crazy.

When the exhaustion got to be too much, he tucked a couple pillows into the bed under the blankets as a decoy, then curled up on the floor of the closet in a nice little hide he’d constructed, leaving the door open a crack so he could see out into the room. The first few times he’d slept that way, Clint had shoved the back of a chair beneath the doorknob as backup for the lock, but then he started worrying about someone needing to get into the room because of the house being on fire or something, so he’d stopped.

He would have slept with a gun on his chest, but the idea of getting confused and shooting one of Bucky’s dads made Clint want to puke, so he slept with his phone, instead. There was a knife in there with him, just in case—of what, he had no idea—but it was in a sheath duct taped to the wall. Sure, he was still capable of hitting someone with it while half-asleep, but the Howlies knew not to sneak up on him, and _not_ having a weapon nearby wasn’t an option if he was going to sleep.

Clint knew that Bucky’s dads knew, because a couple weeks back he forgot to disassemble his nest, and the closet door had been open when Gabe popped in to deliver his mail. Bucky's dad hadn’t bothered to pretend he didn’t notice what was going on, but he didn't make a big deal of it, either. Gabe invited him downstairs for pancakes, and gave him a hug, then reminded Clint that they were all vets, and had dealt with the weird that was transitioning back into civilian life.

“Let us know if we can do anything to help,” Gabe had offered, actually meaning _anything_ , which was really nice. Most people said the words, and that was that. “You’re family.”

Clint took them up on the offer. The Howlies were great company, when he could stand having any. They kept the closed captioning on all the time, just in case he showed up, and didn’t pressure him to talk when he was feeling quiet. If he was too stressed to use public-transit they drove him to the VA, or wherever he needed to go. They were the only reason he and Natasha managed to get through visiting Arlington National Cemetery.

Clint’s hands tightened around the shovel. _Nope, not gonna think about graves. Bad luck. Snow. Focus on shoveling snow, idiot._

Of course, his brain didn't listen. It never did.

Their unit had been hit the week before Thanksgiving, because apparently the universe had a really shitty sense of humor, so back home everyone’s regularly scheduled holidays had taken a backseat to funeral arrangements, and misery. He and Natasha hadn't made it back in time for the funerals, which was probably a good thing. Clint wasn't sure how he would have handled all that. Richard said they were nice, though, for what it was worth.

Seeing some of the surviving families had been bad enough. Diaz and Linetti’s relatives were in New Jersey, Cage had a girlfriend in Manhattan, and Hill’s people were in D.C. The rest of the families were scattered across the US, so Clint had opted to send letters with his contact information, explaining the deaf thing so they wouldn't try to call. Him and Tasha had talked about traveling to see everyone, but it felt like the kind of thing Steve would want to be there for, so they’d decided to wait.

Natasha had gone with him to pay respects to the East Coast families, which was both good _and_ bad. He got sympathy as soon as anyone found out he’d been deafened, but a couple people had looked at Natasha like she'd pushed their loved one into the line of fire or something. It made Clint want to scream, because he’d seen how jacked up her back was from the shrapnel, and knew she was a big part of why he was still breathing. It was offensive bullshit. She'd saved _all_ of their asses more than once over the years they'd been together, had fought by their side, and put herself in the line of fire without hesitation whenever it was necessary. The last thing Tasha needed was more guilt dumped in her lap. Clint had said as much as politely as possible to anyone he caught giving Natasha the stink eye, but doubted it made a difference. People had to get through their grief somehow, and anger and blame were always gonna be a part of that. Clint had plenty of his own, but it was all aimed way higher up the chain, where it belonged.

Seeing the partners of their people was one of the most devastating things Clint had ever experienced. The families only had sketchy details at best since the mission was classified, but everyone knew it had to have been bad, considering the caskets they’d put in the ground only contained _parts_ of their loved ones. Him and Tasha tried to find a nice way to say it had been quick, and no one had suffered, or even had time to be scared. Not that it made anything better.

Grieving adults were hard enough to deal with, but kids were the _worst_. By the time he and Natasha were back stateside and able to visit, everyone had Christmas decorations up, which fucked with Clint's head big time. Happy holidays, right? A couple of the younger kids didn't understand daddy wasn't ever coming home, kept talking like Santa was gonna leave him under the tree. Clint was happy he couldn’t follow most of what they said, because one of Diaz’s boys asked Natasha something that made her need to leave the room to cry.

Linetti’s youngest hadn't even _met_ him—was never going to now—which was just colossally fucked up. Clint had held onto little Gina like she was made of spun glass, breathed in her clean baby smell, quietly hating himself because he’d made it home instead of her daddy. Hated himself because he knew if someone gave him the choice, he wouldn’t want to trade places with Vince.

Cap would have made the trade in a heartbeat, and Clint wasn’t sure if that meant he was a better man than most, or if it was only indicative of how the Army had broken Steve.

Sure, he’d love it if Linetti and Diaz could go home to their kids, but there was no way in hell Clint was cashing out on his own life to make it happen. As long as Bucky was alive, Clint wanted to cling to every second he had, even if it was spent miserable, and worried sick, curled up in Bucky's old bed, staring at the walls, or the ceiling, or lying face down trying not to cry too much.

 _You're doing it again_.

What he needed was a proper diversion before he got _really_ morbid, and overwhelmed by sadness. Problem was, rallying your spirits when your heart was missing was next to impossible. Clint's heart was still stuck in the hospital after yet another surgery, and the longer he and Bucky were separated, the more Clint felt like he was dying.

Clint smashed the shovel into the sidewalk a few times, knocking the snow off of it with more enthusiasm than was required before heading back into the house. It felt like his entire body was shaking from rage and helplessness and terror, but at least he wasn't crying. Yet.

Jim waved and gestured to a freshly brewed pot of coffee when Clint tromped into the kitchen. _Hells. Yes._ Bucky's dads were the best.

“Gonna take it to go, if that's cool?” His throat felt weird from not talking in a while, and he kind of hated not knowing how loud he was being, but it was easier to use words, so whatever.

Jim nodded, grabbed a travel mug from the cabinet and handed it off. He waited until Clint had filled up and turned back around, then mimed driving a car.

“Nah, but thanks. Hopping on the Q,” Clint dug up a smile. “Gonna use my birthday present.”

This got him a big smile in return, along with a double thumbs up, and a request to let them know if he was going to be home for dinner. Jim carefully signed while slowly announcing that they'd be having pot pie, and before he quite knew what was happening, Clint was hugging the guy. Sometimes being treated like a member of their family still caught him off guard. In a good way.

“I'll definitely be home for dinner,” he promised, his smile genuine this time.

After popping upstairs to get his wallet and keys, Clint headed out into the world feeling better than he had in days. No wonder Bucky and Steve were such stand up guys. Their parents were the polar opposite of what him and Barney had dealt with growing up. Like, never in a million years would it have occurred to his own piece of shit dad to try to learn sign language for anyone, least of all Clint.

Since he was only beginning to learn himself, having people to practice with had been invaluable. Mostly he’d been using the internet. There were plenty of classes and resources in Brooklyn and the surrounding boroughs, but he’d been hesitant to throw himself into the mix. Clint knew it was crazy stupid, but the idea of moving too far along in living his life without Bucky there at his side felt Wrong with a capital W.

_Looks like I caught your paranoia, Buck._

Clint tried and failed not to worry as he waited for his train, earbuds still in place, positioned with his back against a wall. The platform was mostly empty, the snow scaring people off, which was a bonus as far as Clint was concerned. Less to keep an eye on.

These days, worrying about Bucky was like breathing. It happened automatically, was there with Clint every minute he was awake, and even in his sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, their last moments together replayed in his mind on loop, making his stomach clench up, and his heart race. Because he hadn’t wanted to go, not even a little, but the Army had other ideas, and didn’t give them a choice. And each fucking minute away from Bucky added to the pressing awful certainty that he was _never going to see him again_. It made Clint think of Kelly Linetti walking around her house like a zombie, and all the kids without daddies now, and widowed partners, and parents who had lost children… and if nothing and no one had intervened on behalf of his friends, why should it be any different for Bucky? How was he supposed to hang onto hope, especially when he was on the other side of the fucking world, and couldn’t even be there to hold Bucky’s hand, or—

The telltale rumble of the approaching train was a welcome interruption. Clint swiped at his eyes real quick, pushing away whatever tears had managed to escape, then boarded the train, relieved to find a seat with a good vantage point.

_You’re supposed to be cheering yourself up, dumbass. Bucky’s coming home, end of story._

And when he got home, Bucky was going to want to know what he had been up to. Clint wanted to have some answers that weren’t depressing as fuck, especially since the Howlies had hooked him up with a pretty sweet birthday present. The last email from Steve claimed Bucky had nothing to do with it, but the careful way it was worded made it clear that was bullshit. No way the Howlies randomly decided that what Clint needed for his birthday was a crazy generous gift card for an archery range. That was all Bucky.

Owning and using a bow again would be real nice. It was another of those things Clint wouldn’t have thought to look for, especially in Brooklyn, but the online reviews were promising, and it sounded like the place was frequented by pros and beginners alike. There was enough on the gift card for top of the line equipment and plenty of hours on a lane. Hell, he could reserve all the lanes and have the place to himself if he wanted.

The train would get him most of the way there, but there was still a good fifteen minute walk through the snow before he’d reach the range. Clint sipped his coffee as he strolled, happy to take advantage of the winter weather’s tendency to keep people indoors.

Being out and about in the city was equal parts exhaustion and exhilaration. The trick was in projecting an air of being a disinterested, native New Yorker, while simultaneously taking note of every passing car, and person, whether anyone was following him, what was going on in alleyways, and so on. It was an all consuming balancing act.

It was also the reason why Clint stopped dead in his tracks, and took off running across the street, heart thumping frantically in his chest.

“Watch out,” he shouted, darting through traffic, having to vault over the hood of a cab in order to avoid being hit.

He’d been taking advantage of the reflective nature of the big storefront windows he was passing, and Clint was sure he’d seen something Not Good out of the corner of his eye, but…

_Shit, where the hell are you? Bucky’s gonna kill me if I get run over chasing imaginary—_

But no, _there_ , pinkish-red paw prints left behind in the snow, heading into the alley. Clint almost wrecked himself on a patch of ice in his haste, but got his feet back under him, stumbling into the alleyway, catching his shoulder against one of the buildings.

“Dog? Don’t be dead, okay?” he called, scanning his surroundings.

_Fuck, more blood, not good!_

Clint proceeded with caution, not wanting to spook the wounded animal. And there it was, behind a pile of trash, hunched up all pathetic with its eyes squeezed shut, and one of its legs sticking out at an unnatural angle. The dog’s breathing was erratic. There was blood in its fur, all over its face, and Clint’s heart jumped into his throat. He saw Bucky again, eyes rolling back into his head as he lost consciousness, blood _everywhere_ , was holding onto him tight, tighter, desperate, shouting, “Don’t die, please don’t die, Buck, come on, I love you, don’t leave me, not _now_!”

Then his phone was in his hand, and Clint was pulling up the map app, searching, and… There, a couple blocks back and around the corner, a 24-hour veterinary ER.

_Thank you, Brooklyn._

Ignoring his need to puke, and the panic rushing through his system like wildfire, Clint scooped the dog up into his arms, and took off running. The body in his arms trembled. One of the dog’s eyes was cracked open, watching him, and Clint wanted to cry.

“Sorry, Dog, I know this has to hurt,” he said, trying and failing not to jostle the dog as he ran. “You’re gonna be okay. Promise.”

For the first time since coming home, Clint felt laser focused and alive. Some of that was adrenaline. Whatever. Didn’t matter. Clint’s grief, and guilt, and the chasm of loneliness didn’t matter. The ever present fear that Bucky was dying didn’t matter. The silence didn’t matter. _Nothing_ mattered except getting help for Dog.

Clint tumbled through the entrance of the ER, scaring the shit out of everyone nearby.

“Somebody needs to fix this dog,” he shouted, gasping for air.

A blur of activity.

People in scrubs. Dog being lifted out of his arms.

There was blood on his hands. He couldn’t stop staring. It was on his coat, too. _Shit_. How did this keep happening to him?

Someone shook him, hard.

“I’m deaf,” Clint yelled, rolling his shoulder, trying to escape the unwelcome point of contact. He was freaking out. Shaking.

A chair.

Sitting.

Long brown fingers pressing some sort of moist towelette into his hands.

Clint looked up. Big eyes, a sweet smile, glasses. Green scrubs. A name tag. Jayla. She pointed to his hands, mimed wiping. Clint blinked. Tried to wipe Dog’s blood off of his hands. Jayla threw the dirtied wipes away, gave him fresh ones, and Clint could breathe again.

“Sorry,” he said, not sure if the word even came out. His mouth was dry, and his throat ached.

Jayla waved away the apology, and held up a pad of paper with words written out in blue ink. _Are you hurt?_ Clint shook his head in the negative. Scribbling. _Can you tell me what happened to your dog?_

“Not my dog.”

He frantically wiped off the front of his coat and his sleeves, feeling sick to his stomach. Too much blood, it had to be, dogs were small, how much could they safely lose? Clint started shaking again. Fuck, everyone in the waiting room was staring at him.

_Not a good place to freak out, Barton!_

“I’ll pay the bills, promise, so do whatever it takes. I don’t know if it’s a boy dog or a girl dog, or if that matters, but it’d be great if someone could… could _save_ the dog—”

Jayla held up her hands, halting the rush of words. Clint chewed on his lower lip, leg bobbing while he hugged himself, staring at her. There was something in her expression that he couldn’t quite figure out. He _had_ to seem crazy at this point, but instead of backing away slowly, she was giving off this very chill vibe.

She held up the pad of paper. _Come on into the back with me for a minute._

Clint was surprised his legs didn’t go out from under him. He followed Jayla into the back, wondering if she was going to lock him in an exam room and call the cops. But it wasn’t an exam room. It was some kind of break room. One of those plug in air fresheners filled the place with the scent of cinnamon, and there was a big corkboard covered with pictures of happy animals and people and thank you cards. Jayla was in some of the photos. She led him over to the couch, and Clint sank into the cushions.

Another note. _I don’t know sign language. Can you read lips?_

“Uh huh. Just… go slow.”

“What’s your name?”

“Clint Barton.”

“Alright. My name is Jayla. Are you a vet, Clint?” Clint’s confusion must have been obvious. Jayla shook her head, smiling again. “A war veteran, baby, not a veterinarian.”

“Yeah, Army. That obvious, huh?”

“My husband is a vet,” Jayla said, and Clint relaxed. “How long you been back?”

“Twenty-five days.” He’d been keeping count.

Jayla nodded. “Do you need me to call someone for you? It’ll be a bit of a wait.”

Shit. Pot pie. He’d promised to be home for dinner. Clint looked around the room, spotted a clock on the wall, and relaxed. Even though it felt like he’d been gone for hours, it was still early. “I’ll send a text. But, um, thank you. You’re really nice. This is… I was freaking out, which, yeah, you probably noticed.”

She was too nice to say that she had, but her smile and the soft look in her eyes said plenty.

“Do you think Dog will make it?”

“Dog is in good hands,” she said. Clint wanted to believe her, but it was hard. “Anything you can tell me about what happened would help.”

“Yeah, sure. Uh, I was walking from the Q, heading down 3rd, and… and I’m kinda of on high alert all the time now, because of being blown up. I was using the shop windows to watch my six, and only caught it out of the corner of my eye, about a half-block behind me, and across the street. Late nineties Hyundai Elantra, metallic blue, Jersey plates—didn’t have a clear line of sight, so I only have a partial plate number,” Jayla’s eyes widened with surprise, “it hit Dog and kept going. Um, so I ran across the street, and followed the blood, and then ran here with Dog.”

Clint fumbled with his phone, pulled up the recent map search, showed her where it had happened.

“Good, that helps a lot, Clint. Let me go tell the doctors while you fill out some forms for me.” Jayla handed him papers and a pen, and smiled again. “How ‘bout you send that text message and let your people know where you are.”

“Okay. Thanks, Jayla.”

Clint sent off a group text message. A flood of love and support came back to him through the phone. ETAs followed, and Clint cried a bit, overwhelmed by that family feeling again. Then he wiped his eyes dry. Shoved his phone back into his jacket, remembered he still had coffee. Cried again, but only for a minute, the warmth of the mug in his hands was steadying, the bitter taste comforting and familiar. He filled out the forms. It took longer than it should have because of his hands shaking, but by the time he finished up, his heart was beating normally, and his hands were steady. There wasn’t any concern about his legs giving out under him when he walked the papers out to the front.

Jayla hadn’t lied about the wait, but Clint was Army, so he had years of practice in Advanced Waiting. Periodically, Jayla swung by to give him updates. Dog was a he, not a she. He had no collar, and wasn’t chipped. Based on their exam, he was a Labrador Retriever mix, somewhere between 6 months and a year old. Dog was underweight, showed signs of being homeless.

Clint was led into a room in the back. Dog was there on a table, bandaged, looking all pathetic, and doped up.

_What even is your life, man?_

A broken pelvis, broken leg, two broken ribs, and one eye lost to injury. Clint’s hand hovered above Dog’s head for a second before sinking into warm fur, stroking, attempting to offer comfort. Trying not to think of Bucky.

“Good boy,” Clint said.

Dum Dum pulled him into a hug as soon as he stepped back into the waiting room. Clint squeezed his eyes shut, and let go for a second. Dum Dum rubbed circles against Clint’s back, and he laughed, thinking, “Good boy.”

Clint stepped out of the hug, and slouched in one of the empty seats. Jayla smiled, gave his knee a squeeze, passed the tray of cookies Jim had brought along.

“He’s lucky you found him.” Jayla said. “Dog needs rest, and plenty of TLC, but they tell me he’ll make a full recovery.”

“Yeah.”

“Tonight he needs to stay for observation. After that, we can keep him here for a little while, but it’s not ideal,” she added, pretending to talk to Gabe. She was side eyeing Clint pretty hard. “Adopting him out will be tough, too. People are stupid, pass over beautiful animals for the slightest so-called imperfections.”

Clint’s heart flopped painfully at the thought of Dog spending night after day after night in the hospital alone. There’d be vets to check in on him, sure, but it wasn’t the same as having someone there at his side to keep him safe, and comforted. And what if he never got adopted? Dog was only a puppy, he could spend _years_ moving from one shelter to another. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t fair, and there was no way in hell Clint was leaving without Dog. He chewed on his lower lip, then snuck a glance at the dads. They were all watching him, expressions eerily similar, and expectant.

_Fucking mind readers._

“Guess I need to come up with a better name than Dog, huh?”

Jayla smiled, pulled a stack of papers out from behind her, and handed them to Clint with a pen. It was the final printouts for Dog’s visit to the ER. There was a blank space waiting for the dog’s name, and Clint was listed as the owner. Clint glanced at the Howlies again, but no one was objecting. In fact, Dum Dum gave him a nod of approval.

The pen hovered above the paper for a moment, but then Clint laughed, and wrote down a name. Looked at it. Smiled wide, and signed his own name at the bottom.

_Lucky._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELCOME TO THE INSANITY, LUCKY! Anyone who has read Matt Fraction and David Aja's run of _Hawkeye_ will recognize some dialogue/descriptions lifted right from the comics. So worth the $$/time. Buy them all, love them~!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve come home at last. A reunion ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it Explicit in here, or is it just me? *fans self*

Bucky stopped in his tracks, his entire body vibrating with anger and urgency, a sob stuck somewhere behind his clenched teeth. The sense of betrayal made it feel like his damn heart was in a vise.

“Bucky—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed. “I’m about two seconds away from losin’ it, _Cap_.”

Beside him, Steve sucked in a mouthful of air, and went very still before pulling Bucky out of the flow of foot traffic around them.

“It was for your own good,” he said, opting for French so they’d have a bit of privacy. Steve sounded just as sad and angry as Bucky felt when he continued. “You’re in uniform. Believe me, I’m aware of how unfair this feels, but you’re still out-processing.”

Steve gestured around them to the busy airport, the other soldiers now walking past them, looking over their shoulders to see what the hold up was. Bucky took note of the civilians who were watching them, their eyes automatically drawn to the space where his arm was meant to be, then darting away as if it was contagious.

“Do you really want to risk losing your benefits, Buck?”

Worst part was, the asshole was right. Didn’t make him feel any better. In fact, Bucky kind of felt worse. “You coulda told me earlier,” he managed to choke out, shaking off Steve’s grip and rejoining the flow. He wanted out of the damn airport. “ _Seventy-six days_ I’ve been waitin’ on this, Steve!”

“I’m sorry, Bucky.”

Steve sounded miserable, and Bucky felt like a jerk. His brother wasn’t responsible for the rules and he’d spent all seventy-six of those days trying to keep Bucky from losing his mind worrying about Clint. Not just the idea of something happening to Clint while Bucky was on the other side of the world, but about what _would_ happen if Bucky’s injuries wound up killing him after all, and he didn’t make it home. The thought of leaving Clint alone in the world, of never having the chance to see him again, made Bucky’s chest feel like it was being crushed by the weight of his misery.

Bucky had no idea how Steve managed to pull it off, but he’d been there with him at the hospital hour after hour, day after day, even when he’d been cleared medically, and was back on his feet. There were exceptions—meetings with the higher ups, paperwork, scheduling evaluations, and handling all the bureaucratic bullshit that needed to be taken care of to move their separations through the system—but then Steve would be right back in Bucky’s room. He’d relay Clint and Natasha’s emails, send updates in return, read to Bucky, hold his hand, tell him everything was going to be okay. Shit, once Bucky’s never ending fever had finally broken, Steve even managed to scare up an ancient-ass AV cart and VHS tapes on learning sign language. Had spent hours watching and learning and practicing with him, patient with Bucky’s occasional frustration over having only the one hand to sign with.

“I knew you’d be upset,” Steve said, derailing Bucky’s thoughts. “You were already so stressed out, I thought it’d be better to wait until we landed before saying anything.”

Which was _also_ the right call, because if Steve had told him earlier, Bucky would have gone Chernobyl, and gotten himself in deep shit as a result. Stressed didn’t cover it, he’d been one hundred percent crazy during the lead up to heading home.

Bucky’d survived three additional surgeries, managed to fight off a nasty secondary infection, and put back on a bit of the weight he’d lost. No more hospital beds. Gone was the indignity of catheters and bedpans, of having strangers wipe his ass or give him sponge baths. No doctors poking and prodding him at all hours, nodding grimly, talking quietly with Steve, like Bucky wasn’t capable of hearing they needed to cut away _more_ of his arm.

The first time he’d stood on his own two feet again, Bucky had fallen right back onto the bed. Part of it was from weakness, but the rest was thanks to his new center of gravity. But he’d dealt with it, figured it the fuck out. Had stared at his reflection in the mirror, confused by what he was seeing, because he didn’t really recognize the guy looking back at him. Most of the time it felt like his arm was still there. Seeing his shoulder end abruptly in context with the rest of his scarred body, the truth of his situation had slammed into Bucky with the force of a Mack Truck.

Clint was still gonna love him—Bucky didn’t doubt that for a second—so instead of feeling sorry for himself, he’d focused on getting his strength back so he could get home to what was _really_ missing from his life.

And because it was the Army, nothing ever went according to plan; their schedule had changed a half-dozen times, and when they finally started the first leg of the journey, everything had gone off the rails yet _again_ , so they were already a day and a half behind when they were supposed to have been home.

Every minute of the journey had been sheer fucking agony, Bucky’s paranoia ratcheting up to the extent that Steve had finally convinced him to take the pills the doctors had prescribed, so he could get some sleep. Now, they’d managed to get all the way to JFK Airport and off the plane alive—Bucky had been thinking endlessly of missile strikes, and catastrophic system failures—and just when he thought he’d finally be reunited with Clint…

Yeah. _Not cool_. But not Steve’s fault, either.

“Sorry.” Bucky took a deep breath, trying to will away the oppressive sense of doom. “I know you’re only lookin’ out for me. So, is _anyone_ pickin’ us up, or are we taking the train?”

“Dum Dum and Gabe.” Steve hesitated, but then reached out, squeezing Bucky’s shoulder. “A half hour car ride, and this’ll all be over.”

“A lot can change in a half hour,” Bucky snapped, regretting the words almost as soon as they left his mouth.

The hand slid from his shoulder, and when Bucky risked a glance, he found Steve’s face was blank in the worst possible way. “Yes. I’m aware of this.”

“Hey, ignore me and my big mouth,” Bucky said, guilt making a comeback. “I’m pissed at the Army, not you, Stevie.”

Steve nodded, but his shoulders were still squared, and his jaw tight as they marched through the airport. Bucky wanted to smack himself in the mouth. Steve might be in one piece physically, but he was barely keeping it together in other ways. Taking care of Bucky in the hospital had been a good distraction, but now they were back in New York. Bucky was coming home to the love of his life, but Steve was _terrified_ , and in the process of giving up the only life he knew, and it was all for the sake of his brother.

Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm, held on tight. “You did the right thing,” he said, sticking with French. “No way I’d be able to show restraint, and we both know I’m fucked without my benefits. I love you. Thanks for saving me from my own stupidity.”

One corner of Steve’s mouth twitched as if he might smile, some of the tension easing out of his body. Whatever else Bucky had planned to say was washed away as people in the airport began to applaud. Ahead of them, their fellow soldiers were being greeted by loved ones, being cheered by strangers in line at the ticket counters. As much as the wall of sound was making his heart race with panic, Bucky found himself getting choked up while people called out thank yous, and welcomed them home.

Then Bucky spotted Dum Dum and Gabe up ahead, and the bottom dropped out in a good way for a change. It was real! They were home, and alive, and it was gonna be okay, they’d survived the goddamned Army, and—

Bucky let go of his duffle bag, let himself be swept up in an embrace, Dum Dum and Gabe grabbing hold of him at the same time, then dragging Steve into the mix, until they were all a confusing press of bodies, and laughter, and tears.

“Lemme look at you,” Dum Dum said, not bothering to wipe his face dry. He was grinning ear to ear, looked proud, and relieved, and downright ecstatic. “Too damn skinny by half,” he declared, before grabbing hold of Steve, pulling him back into a hug.

“Hey, Dad,” Bucky heard Steve say, sounding lost. Steve’s body was still far too rigid, even in Dum Dum’s arms, even though he was hugging back, and had his face hidden against their father’s shoulder.

Bucky tucked Gabe beneath his arm, feeling overwhelmed, and maybe more than a little scared. Gabe pressed a kiss to his temple. “Man, are we happy to see you.”

“The feelin’ is beyond mutual.” Bucky sniffed. Gabe glanced at Steve, eyes narrowing, then shared a look with Bucky. Yeah, they were gonna need to help Steve every step of the way through this transition. “I hear you’ve been takin’ good care of my fella.”

“Best we can,” Gabe said, fishing out his phone. “Smile and look pretty. We promised to send Clint visual confirmation that you arrived safe and sound.”

Fuck, and it was _hard_ all of a sudden, getting himself to smile for the camera, his mouth going all wobbly on him, but Bucky did the best he could while Gabe snapped the photo. Then Dum Dum grabbed hold of him again, and that was better, made it easier to breathe.

“You had us worried there, kid,” he said, squeezing carefully. “Your man has been climbin’ up the walls. What say we head on home?”

“Uh, yes, please,” Bucky laughed. “Sooner the better, I’m losin’ my mind missin’ his stupid perfect face.”

Gabe grabbed hold of Bucky’s duffle bag for him, but he didn’t protest, since he was feeling shaky and exhausted. Beside him, Steve took a deep breath, and shouldered his own bag, waving away Dum Dum’s attempts to take it off his hands. He was quiet as they weaved through the crowds, and left the airport. He was quiet when Bucky made a big stink about freezing his ass off. He was still quiet when they finally got to the car.

“Hey,” Bucky whispered, knocking his shoulder against Steve’s as they slid into the backseat. “You okay?”

Steve nodded. “I’m fine.” He must have felt Bucky staring, because Steve sighed, and finally looked Bucky in the eyes. “It’s…” He shook his head, and buckled up, looking away again. “I don’t know.”

“Kinda surreal, ain’t it?”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed after a moment. He stared out the window at the world around them like he’d never seen it before.

Bucky wanted to comfort him somehow, but Steve looked ready to come out of his skin, so he kept his hand to himself, focused on his dads. “Who all’s back at the house?”

“Richard, Mary, Natasha,” Gabe said, ticking off fingers, “Clint, Lucky, and the rest of your dads. We didn’t want to make it a huge thing. Figured you might want to catch your breath.”

As much as it made him feel selfish, Bucky was glad it was a small affair. Once he'd finally been well enough to get to a computer, Bucky had found an email Natasha sent after she and Clint had visited the families of their friends. There was no way in hell Steve was in any shape to be around the grieving loved ones of their fallen brothers and sisters.

“Good thinking.”

Each beat of his heart was in anticipation of seeing Clint, which made it tough to concentrate on small talk, but since Steve was keeping quiet and staring out the window, it fell to Bucky to fill the silence. All he wanted to do was ask if they were _fucking_ _there yet_ , each red light and stop sign making his anxiety double. So close, still so far away.

“This traffic is bullshit,” Bucky said, trying to will the car to move faster.

“What do you think, should we stop and grab some groceries?” Dum Dum asked Gabe.

“Sure, shouldn’t take too long.”

Bucky flipped them off. “You think you’re funny, but you’re really not.”

“You’re lucky he hasn’t gotten out of the car and started running there,” Steve said. Bucky would have complained, except he was relieved to have Steve teasing him again, rather than doing his best impression of a statue.

“Don’t think I haven’t considered it.” Bucky grumbled, relaxing even more when Steve gave him a little brotherly punch to the thigh.

“No detours, we’ve been living with Clint’s puppy dog eyes,” Gabe said. “No one can resist those.”

“You build up an immunity after a while,” Steve said absently.

Closer, closer, until they were on the block, and pulling into the driveway, and Bucky wasn't even sure they'd come to a complete stop before he was opening the car door, oblivious of the snow and cold, running up the steps of the porch. Everything faded into the background as Bucky threw open the front door. People calling his name, a dog barking, the sounds and smells of home. Two steps, then three, and then Clint jumped up from the couch, finally realizing what was happening.

They froze. Only for a handful of seconds, but each of them were rooted to the spot, as if in disbelief. But there Clint was, wearing a gobsmacked expression, looking decidedly different and exactly the same.

Bucky drank him in, trying to burn every detail into his memory. Clint's hair had grown out, he was wearing clothes Bucky had never seen before, and the shirt made his eyes seem extra blue, and those eyes were wide with surprise. Fuck, but he was _stunning_ , made the rest of the world seem dull and shabby by comparison, and Bucky was gripped by sudden terror, because nothing and no one could be so perfect, so any minute now he was gonna wake up, find out it was all a dream brought on by the pills.

The moment passed, Bucky's body moving on autopilot, like a compass needle drawn to the magnetic North Pole, heart slamming against his ribs as he rushed forward. Clint met him halfway, the two of them crashing into each other, and—

Oh, _yes_ , Clint, _it was Clint_ , alive and real and grabbing hold of Bucky, strong hands on either side of his face, blue eyes and freckles, though they were fading from being out of the sun. Bucky kissed him, kissed him hard, and hungry, and desperate, not caring that they weren't alone. The world was nothing but Clint, those baby blues of his sparkling as Clint exhaled in a hot rush into Bucky's mouth. They were both panting, bodies heaving as they struggled against each other, trying to remember how to breathe.

Urgent and painful and _perfect_ , so fucking perfect, Clint's lips moving against his own, tongue and teeth. Bucky felt the absence of his arm in a new and profound way. He wanted to hold Clint tight, tighter, wanted to touch every inch of him at the same time, make sure nothing important had changed. He did the best he could with what he had, fingers ultimately sliding into Clint's hair, cradling the back of his head, breathing, tasting, _drowning_ in Clint.

“Missed you,” Clint moaned into his mouth, still kissing him, “ _so much_ , Bucky, I was _dying_ without you, you fuckin’ asshole.”

Bucky swallowed the words, sucking on Clint's lower lip before putting a bit of space between them so Clint could see his mouth. “Sorry it took me so long, sweetheart,” he said, voice breaking around the words. He let go, hating having even an inch separating them, but he needed his hand in order to sign. “Here to stay. I love you, Clint.”

Clint's smile was something else, lit up his entire face, made warmth rush through Bucky's body, even through the arm that wasn’t there, so that he felt _whole_ and so very alive. Then Clint was kissing him again, less urgent now, soft, and reverent. Clint shifted, an arm sliding around Bucky's waist, holding their bodies flush while Clint's thumb stroked the hinge of his jaw. Bucky savored the slow brush of Clint's lips, the teasing slide of his tongue, and the taste of coffee. He couldn't stop playing with Clint's hair, running the strands through his fingers, loving the way it made Clint hum with pleasure and sigh into his mouth.

Seventy-six days spent dreaming of kissing Clint without blood or pain, without being trapped in a bed, pumped full of drugs, and his imagination hadn't even come close to predicting how good it would be. It wasn’t just the relief and happiness, but the way they moved together, their breathing and urgency synced up perfectly now.

Only, seventy-six days was bullshit, wasn’t it, because it had been _years_ , years of desperate fantasies leading up to this reunion. Wondering and dreaming and _wanting him so bad_. Now, Clint was in his arms at last. Well, arm, but whatever. It was worth the wait, worth the sacrifice, worth every minute of pain and paranoia since they'd last had eyes on each other.

Because it wasn't like any kiss Bucky had ever had before. Made him feel stupid, since once upon a time he’d thought of himself as an experienced lover. Yeah, he didn't know _shit_. Every other kiss had been hollow by comparison, the empty, pathetic fumblings of a man just looking to get off. This was like having life and love and happiness and belonging pounding through his veins. And if this was what _kissing_ Clint was like, then the sex was gonna be out of this world!

Clint pressed closer, sucking on Bucky’s tongue, fingers gripping possessively as he rocked his hips— _thank fucking god_ , Bucky wasn’t the only one tenting his pants—prompting Bucky to adjust his hold on Clint, help himself to a handful of ass.

“ _Jesus Christ_ , now I understand why Clint couldn’t be at the airport,” Parker said loudly.

Laughter broke out around them, and as much as Bucky wanted to argue, they had to pump the brakes. He was going to need therapy as it was, he didn’t need to add, “Coming in my pants in front of my family and friends,” to the list of Shit He Had To Discuss.

Bucky managed to tear his mouth away, and sure enough, everyone was watching them. Mary was blotting her eyes with tissues, Richard shaking his head beside her, while Natasha grinned like the damn Cheshire Cat. His dads were all wearing similarly indulgent smiles, looking proud and happy for them, but _Steve_ —Bucky’s stomach clenched—his brow was furrowed, and his eyes had this crazy intense aspect to them, like he’d just witnessed something inexplicable and deeply disturbing.

“I love you, too,” Clint said, making Bucky refocus.

The fear and worry slipped away again as he forgot everyone and everything else. Bucky stared into Clint’s eyes, the two of them swaying together while stupid smiles crept across their faces. A jostle turned into a shove, into another, until they were both laughing, hugging again, Clint lifting him off the ground and spinning Bucky in a circle.

“Oh shit,” Bucky yelped, lurching dangerously once his feet were back on the ground. Strong arms snagged him around the waist before he could fall over.

Clint pulled a face, and good god _damn_ had Bucky missed seeing those quirky expressions. “Oops?”

“Still have some balance issues,” Bucky explained, signing as best he could along with the words. Then he lurched again when something collided with his legs. “What the f—”

“Lucky!”

Bucky was already lowering himself carefully to one knee so he could greet the pooch properly when fifty-some pounds of dog surged forward, knocking him on his ass and smashing him in the nuts. Which, _ow_ , but at least that took care of his hardon. Added bonus, now that he was sitting on the floor, he could pet the dog without worrying about losing his balance.

“No breaking Bucky, I just got him back!”

“Is this the guy you been cheatin’ on me with?” he asked, laughing when Lucky barked and licked his face. “Clint sent me photos of you, pup. You’re even cuter in person.”

Another bark of agreement. Lucky’s tail was wagging with excitement while Bucky scrubbed his hand through fur, looking the dog over. You’d never know he’d been hit by a car. Clint joined them on the floor, a big old grin on his face.

“Someone took good care of you, didn’t they?” Bucky signed along with the words as best he could, glancing at Clint. He wasn’t sure which of them he was talking to; even with their limited contact before and after Clint adopted Lucky, it was obvious that the dog had gone a long way toward helping Clint cope.

“Should’ve seen him when we met.” Clint slid his fingers through Lucky’s fur, then pulled the dog into a hug. “He was even more of a disaster than your dumb ass.”

“Well, looks like we’re a trio instead of a duo, now,” Bucky said, watching the two of them together, and falling in love all over again. “Hope you’re okay with sharing, Luck.”

“Speaking of sharing,” Jim said, “any chance you’re gonna say hello to the rest of us?”

Bucky laughed and let his dad pull him up and into a hug. More followed, so that by the time he made it to Natasha, Bucky was tearing up again. She looked the same as before, but different, too. It was something around the eyes, and maybe they all had it, that, “I’ve seen too much,” look.

“Happy to see you on your feet again, Sergeant.” She smiled a knowing little smile. “Ready to take over?”

“Oh yeah,” Bucky answered, squeezing her tight. “Ready, willing, and able.”

“Based on that greeting, I take it you’re all done being stupid where Clint is concerned?” she asked sweetly.

Bucky felt himself blush, which was ridiculous, but unavoidable. “Yes, sir,” he said, saluting her, hoping she could see he was serious about the answer. It was gonna suck some days, and not in the fun way—that was just part of being alive and in the world—but not where him and Clint were concerned, no way, no how. Bucky was gonna live and breathe for making the man happy.

“Excellent.” Natasha gave him a pat on the cheek. “I’d hate to have to destroy you.”

Bucky laughed at this, shook Natasha’s hand in agreement, and wiped his face dry. Fuck, but it was good to be home with the people he loved. Even if he sort of wanted to kick all but one of them out of the house for a couple hours. Bucky’s eyes were drawn to Clint again, couldn’t seem to look away, which was rude, but not something he had any hope of controlling.

Clint met him halfway again, Lucky at his heels. No kissing this time, despite how desperate Bucky was to pick up where they had left off. Instead, he curled his fingers around Clint’s wrist, and rubbed his thumb back and forth, feeling Clint’s pulse give a little jump in response. Hugging each other hadn’t been a practical option when Bucky had been in the hospital—everything hurt all the time—so he’d held onto Clint’s wrist for hours instead, almost scared to let go.

“We made it, Buck,” Clint whispered, eyes all bright. Bucky nodded, couldn’t resist any longer, had to kiss Clint, short and sweet. “I hope you realize that’s the longest we’ve been apart since meeting each other.”

“Never again,” Bucky said, meaning it. “From here on out, five, ten minutes apart, tops.”

“Deal.”

Damn, and the look in Clint’s eyes made Bucky’s dick twitch in his pants. Yeah, he needed to get Clint alone, ASAP.

Only, his dads initiated another round of hugs, and Lucky danced around his feet, excited to get to know him. Bucky hadn’t seen Mary Parker since the wedding, and he was still worried about Steve. To top it all off, his stomach started grumbling in response to the spread his folks had put together. An assortment of his and Steve’s favorite foods was covering the dining room table. And so Bucky begrudgingly allowed himself to be swept along into the flow of celebration.

Clint held both their plates as they walked around the table, while Bucky loaded them up with chow, already knowing what should and should not be on Clint’s plate. He tucked their silverware into his front pocket, then mimed drinking to Clint, got a nod in reply, and snagged two bottles of beer from the fridge before they headed back into the living room. Bucky settled onto the couch, positioning the bottles between his knees so he could twist off the caps, then lifted them out of the way so Clint could set Bucky’s plate down on his lap for him, grab his fork from Bucky’s pocket, and snag his own drink. Mission accomplished, they clinked their bottles together, and tucked in.

The whole process was so seamless that Bucky was halfway through his beer before it occurred to him that he hadn’t needed to stop and plot a course of action, as had been the case for most everything as of late. Being an arm short wasn’t the end of the world—not even close—but time and time again he’d found himself forced to reconsider tasks that previously required no thought whatsoever.

Clint hadn’t fawned over him, either, or made things awkward, acting like Bucky was incapable of doing it on his own. That had happened more than once already, Steve as guilty of it as anyone. Bucky appreciated people wanting to help, but they could at least wait and let him ask for it, if he actually needed it.

Bucky glanced to his left where Clint was seated beside him, watched him sneaking scraps of food to their one-eyed dog Lucky, and had to laugh. Clint’s mouth turned up at one corner in response to the vibrations, but he kept his eyes on the dog, the brat. That was okay, it meant Bucky could keep staring, which he did, slowly inching his face closer and closer, until Clint gave up, and turned his head.

“What?”

“Nothin’, sweetheart,” Bucky said, grinning hard enough to make his face hurt. “I just love that you named our dog _Lucky_.”

“Seemed to make sense at the time.”

“Still makes all the sense now,” Bucky said. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

“I _am_ one of a kind.” Clint took a pull from his bottle, eyes never leaving Bucky’s face. “Rhymes with your stupid name, too.”

“That ain’t all it rhymes with,” Bucky mouthed before biting down on his lower lip and waggling his eyebrows. Clint snorted in surprise, while Lucky took advantage of him being distracted, and snagged the rest of the chicken off of Clint’s plate.

“Aw, not cool!”

Bucky’s appetite wasn’t what it had been, so he transferred food from his plate to Clint’s, still smiling like a goon. All he wanted to do was stare at Clint for hours. Getting him naked first would be even better. That’d have to wait until later in the evening, when everyone had called it a night, but…

Clint was still watching him. Bucky took a forkful of mashed potatoes, acting as nonchalant as you please, ticking his head to the side ever so slightly, and saying everything else with his eyes. They’d mastered the wordless communication thing back in basic, so Clint followed along just fine, pressed his thigh against Bucky’s in agreement.

Conversation went on around them, and Bucky tried to give a fuck, he really did, but he was only human. How was he meant to resist the siren song that was Clint? Not happening. So, Bucky finished eating, answering questions as they were asked, trying his best to do the whole small talk thing, then took his dirty plate into the kitchen.

Clint appeared a moment later with his own plate, and their emptied bottles. As soon as his hands were free, he pulled Bucky into another kiss, then signaled to follow his lead.

“Hey, I finally got around to using that birthday present you had nothing to do with,” Clint said as they walked back in the living room, managing to sound perfectly innocent. He mimed drawing a bow, and continued on toward the stairs, turning to face Bucky again before heading up. “Wanna see?”

“Sure.”

Bucky couldn't follow fast enough, especially after Natasha caught his eye, her expression making it clear she knew _exactly_ what they were up to. That wasn’t going to stop him, but if he lingered, she’d do something evil, like ask to see Clint’s bow, too.

They practically raced each other down the hallway, Clint sprinting ahead at the last second, so that he was striking a pose in the middle of Bucky’s childhood bedroom with a shiteating grin on his face by the time Bucky showed up. He locked the door, and leaned back against it, looking Clint up and down.

“Hey, soldier,” Bucky said, tilting his head and smiling his very best smile, “you got somethin’ to show me?”

Clint laughed, shook his head, stalked closer. “So very lame, Buck.”

Those were only words. Clint’s eyes told a different story. Bucky reached for him, grabbed Clint by the back of the neck, pulled him into a kiss. No one was watching this time, and neither of them had any illusions of this being some long, drawn out affair. Clint’s tongue teased its way into Bucky’s mouth while he shifted to get a thigh between Bucky’s legs, started rocking the bulge in his pants against Bucky’s hip, and _yeah_ , they were so on the same wavelength.

Bucky kissed back, chasing after Clint’s tongue, and staring into his eyes, loving what he was seeing. Some part of him was cataloging all the little differences in doing this with a man, still amused over Steve’s concerns about them freaking out. So far? Bucky was _digging_ those differences—it was _Clint_ , how could he not be turned on?—and based on the way Clint had shifted to grind their erections together, he wasn’t freaking out about dicks, either.

Clint was only about an inch and a half shorter than him, so Bucky didn’t have to crane his neck, or contort himself in order to deepen their kiss. He was sturdy as hell, and unlike Bucky, he hadn’t lost any of his muscle mass since leaving the Army. The shirt he was wearing hugged his skin, and Bucky could see and feel the shift and flex of Clint’s biceps as they struggled against each other, which was hot as fuck. Clint had a gorgeous body, all of it practical muscle, earned the hard way; Bucky might’ve spent an inordinate amount of time trying to imagine what it would look like covered in his come.

And, just like that, Bucky realized _he was going to get to find out_ , which made his dick jump with anticipation. He sighed into Clint’s mouth, feeling as happy as he was horny. Give, and take, and teasing flicks of tongue, it was all making him lose his mind. He slid his hand down between Clint’s shoulder blades, down to the small of his back, and finally over the curve of his ass. That got him a hungry moan, so Bucky squeezed, held on tight, blood pounding with urgency in his cock.

“Your ass is perfect, baby.”

Clint pulled back, looking a bit dazed. “Huh?”

“Ass, yours, perfect,” Bucky repeated, giving it another squeeze. Clint grinned like a beautiful dope. “Don’t know ‘bout you, but I’m not gonna last long. Not this time, anyway.”

“Are you kidding me?” Clint sputtered, wearing his very best incredulous expression. “I’ll probably come the second you touch my dick.”

“Let’s find out.” Bucky leaned in, sucked on Clint’s lower lip, then slid his hand around to the front of Clint’s pants, smirking as he stroked Clint’s cock through denim. Clint shuddered, rocked himself against Bucky’s palm. “So far, so good.”

“Without the pants would be _so much better_ ,” Clint gasped. He pushed away from Bucky, but didn’t move very far, just enough to unbutton and unzip his jeans.

Bucky groaned, hardly recognizing the sound as something coming from him, but— _good goddamn_ —Clint was going _commando_ , so now his thick, hard cock was jutting out of his pants, curving toward Bucky.

“I love you so much,” Bucky signed frantically, unable to look away.

This wasn’t the first time he’d seen Clint’s dick, but it was most definitely the first time he’d seen him _hard_ , been the reason _why_ he was hard, or in a position to do something about getting him off. Unable to wait another second, Bucky reached out, and brushed his fingers across the shiny head before taking hold of him properly, squeezing and stroking once, twice, cataloging the differences between Clint’s prick and the one he was used to playing with. Bucky had an inch on him here, too, but Clint was definitely thicker, felt heavy in Bucky’s hand, was uncut, too.

Bucky twisted his wrist, adjusting quickly to the oddity of stroking a dick that wasn’t his own, enthralled by being able to slide Clint’s foreskin back up over the dark, shiny, sticky head of his cock, and back down to expose him again. Clint made a noise like he might die, and that was hot as hell, as was the feeling of his cock _pulsing_ in Bucky’s hand.

Clint’s own hands had momentarily given up on opening Bucky’s pants, opting to hold on for dear life instead, while he watched himself fucking Bucky’s fist. After a moment, Clint raised his head, and Bucky’s heart lurched in response. Clint was pink in the cheeks, his mouth hanging open, eyes all soft and hungry at the same time. He was gasping for air, breath hot against Bucky’s face.

“Luckiest guy in the world,” Bucky said, tightening his grip and stroking with a bit more purpose.

“ _Bucky._ ”

Oh, _wow_ , Clint had never said his name like _that_ before. One and done, now Bucky was officially addicted, was going to spend the rest of his life chasing after that sound, give Clint a damned good reason to keep saying Bucky's name all amazed and vulnerable and possessive. They were kissing again, eyes locked while Bucky let go of Clint’s dick to help get his own out. He needed skin on skin, needed to have both of them in hand at the same time.

Clint had the same idea, pulled himself together long enough to triumph over Bucky’s uniform, tugging his pants and underwear out of the way in one go. Bucky surged forward, but Clint pushed him back against the door, held him in place without even trying, and Bucky thought giddily of the first time he’d beaten off to Fantasy Clint. Here they were, together at last, and his dick still jumped enthusiastically at a display of Clint’s strength. Only difference? This time it was _really happening_.

“ _God damn_ , Buck, _look at you_ ,” Clint gasped, managing to stop staring at Bucky’s dick long enough to look him in the eyes. “You got no idea how many times I jerked off thinking about this.”

“S’funny, I was just thinkin’ the same thing,” Bucky said, licking his lips.

Clint giggled, and shook his head. “We’re the biggest idiots ever, you know that, right?”

“Damn straight we are.”

The ASL tapes Steve had procured didn’t include any kind of dirty talk, so Bucky improvised while forming the words nice and slow, so Clint could follow. “Later tonight, we’re gonna take our time, actually get naked together—”

“Fuck yes, awesome, let’s do that.”

“—get my mouth on your cock—”

Clint’s eyes went impossibly wide, and he reached out, showing no hesitation before taking hold of Bucky’s dick, eyes darting back and forth as he tried to watch what he was doing, follow the movement of Bucky’s signing, and read his lips all at the same time.

Bucky whimpered, thighs trembling like this was the first time anyone had ever touched him. “—oh yeah, _Clint_ , ’cause I’ve been dreamin’ of sucking you off, and—”

“Same,” Clint said, sounding somewhat awestruck, “for years now, how you’ll taste, and the feel of you inside me—”

“—oh, fuck, yes, _that_ , wanna live out every filthy little fantasy you’ve ever had, sweetheart.”

Clint laughed an evil, dirty laugh, crowded Bucky against the door, and took hold of both of them at the same time. “Hmm, that could be dangerous, some of ‘em are pretty filthy.”

“Filthier the better,” Bucky groaned.

Breathing was a thing Bucky should probably be doing, so he tried to get a hold on that while staring down. Clint had their cocks lined up, was working both of them at the same time, and it was sensory fucking overload.

Feeling a bit like he’d died and gone to heaven, Bucky spread his legs farther apart, shut his mouth, and rocked his hips experimentally, rubbing against the hot length of Clint, making him shudder.

“So fuckin’ hot,” Clint whispered. “Be even better with lube, but there ain't’ a chance in hell I’m stopping before getting to come all over you.”

As if trying to be helpful, Bucky’s cock responded to the words by spurting precome. Clint took advantage, smeared it across the heads of both of their cocks, mixing it with his own. He tightened his grip, worked his fist over them, squeezing their cockheads together, and that was… was… there weren’t words for it!

Bucky spit in his palm, held it out so Clint could add his own—it was like some fucked up version of spit brothers—then joined in the action. He slipped his hand beneath Clint’s, coating their shafts with spit, added a bit more to his palm, and then he and Clint went to work.

The thing was, they’d _always_ worked well together, been able to anticipate each other’s moves, compensate for weaknesses, bolster strengths, so… why should sex be any different? Him and Clint were gonna sink right into each other, _remake_ each other, become something new, and strong, and un-fucking-stoppable.

Fists pumping in tandem, hips rolling, cocks sliding, a bit more slippery now, perfect friction, Clint so hot and sticky and hard. Bucky’s balls were already tight against his body, clothes stuck to his skin with sweat. They raised their eyes at the same time, shared a smile, and then they were kissing again, Bucky’s heart so full of love and happiness that it almost hurt.

Having his left hand back would have been nice, so he could have played with Clint’s hair or his ass while jerking them off. He was feeling it there again, kept trying to move it, confused as to why nothing was happening, which was a little distracting. Bucky wasn’t about to complain, though. Clint was basically fucking him into the door at this point, arm braced against the wood beside Bucky’s head, kissing him with the kind of determination he usually reserved for the range.

Bucky’s entire body was vibrating with pleasure as he rode the edge of orgasm, panting and begging, until Clint dragged his lips away. “M’gonna—” Bucky said, voice breaking. He was desperate to watch it happen, looked down, Clint’s forehead resting against his as he did the same.

And… and...

He nearly gave himself a goddamned concussion, head slamming back against the door as he tipped over the edge, come shooting up over Clint’s fist, while he babbled incoherently. Clint wasn’t much better, was moaning continually, milking Bucky’s dick, getting his own cock slippery with Bucky’s come, and it was a thousand, a million, a _billion_ times hotter than Bucky had imagined. And that was before Clint lifted his palm to his mouth so he could suck the taste of Bucky off of his fingers.

“Best sex ever,” Bucky groaned. He kept his fist busy, focusing on Clint, his own cock still spurting weakly. He bridged the gap between them, gave Clint a kiss, teeth dragging over his lower lip. Then pulled away, made sure Clint could see his mouth. “Come on, soldier, show me what you got.”

Clint whimpered, his hips jerking erratically as he slid through Bucky’s come, fucking his fist, sliding his hand down to join the party again. One stroke, two, Clint’s fist pumping frantically, twisting around their cockheads, _squeezing_ , and then hot ribbons of come were spurting all over Bucky’s dick, over their hands, Clint falling forward a bit to rest his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder as he came, and came.

Aftershocks, tremors, and Bucky wasn’t about to let an opportunity pass—not after wasting so much time—so he followed suit, and sucked his fingers clean with a smile. Clint shuddered, raised his head with what looked to be significant effort so he could watch it happen.

“Fan-fuckin’-tastic, baby.”

Clint’s baby blues were staring at Bucky like he was some kind of miracle worker. Made him feel real good, real proud of himself, and he hoped he was wearing a similar expression. Clint was the miracle in the room, no two ways about it.

“Dunno ‘bout you,” Clint said, sounding wrecked, “but that was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, without a doubt,” Bucky agreed without hesitation. “You’re the best _everything_ I’ve ever had.”

Clint snorted. “You sappy fuck.”

His face was still flushed, his hair a bit messy, but not nearly as messy as the rest of him. Bucky wanted to pull up a seat, and just soak it all in for a couple hours, then try for round two, but…

“Any idea how long we’ve been lookin’ at your bow?”

Clint burst out laughing, and kissed him, which was _awesome_. Bucky felt doped up on love. Go figure, sex with your best friend was unlike anything else in the world.

“Too long.” Clint straightened up, and looked down at the sticky aftermath of their romp. He staggered away, grabbed a t-shirt off the floor, and wiped up as best he could before tossing it to Bucky. “They’re probably on to us by now.”

“One look at your face, and they’ll know exactly what we were up to.”

“Go look in the mirror, you’re not any better. You’re rocking the dopiest smile I’ve ever seen.”

They buttoned and zipped, and straightened themselves out as best they could before heading into the bathroom together to wash their hands. Bucky couldn’t stop eyeballing their reflections, and not only because of his very obvious, “You got laid,” expression. Clint caught him staring, then smiled, and kissed Bucky, each of them watching it happen.

“Mirrors are on my filthy to-do list,” Clint said matter-of-factly.

Bucky stroked his cheek. “No wonder I’m crazy in love with you.”

“Love you, too, Bucky.”

The look in Clint’s eyes was something else. Made Bucky want to drag him right back into the bedroom, but instead, he let Clint take him by the hand, only letting go once they reached the stairs. They shared a look before heading down, trying and failing to summon some nonchalance.

There was a slight lag in the conversation as they made their entrance, and yeah, obviously everyone knew they’d been getting off together, but Bucky was having a tough time giving a fuck. He flopped down on the couch beside Natasha, the days of travel catching up with him, mixing with his post-orgasm high, so that it felt a little like he melted into the cushions. Clint continued on to the kitchen, and Bucky watched him go, unable to take his eyes off the man.

“Welcome back,” Natasha purred into his ear. “Have fun playing with Clint’s bow and arrows?”

Bucky snorted. “Very much so, thanks for asking.”

Clint returned with beers, squeezed into the space on Bucky’s left, and then whistled for Lucky. And just like that, Bucky wanted to cry. _This was his life now_. He had no idea what they were going to do for work, or about Steve, and the ache of loss and guilt still sat heavy in his chest. But he was _alive_ , and he was home, with his family and friends, with _Clint_. Hell, he even had a dog. Life was pretty fucking good.

Bucky gave Tasha a kiss on the cheek. “So, what’d we miss?”

“Oh, nothing much,” she said, smirking. “Mary’s pregnant.”

“What? That’s awesome! Congratulations, guys, when’s the kid s’posed to show up?”

Richard and Mary began talking at once, while Bucky backtracked, did some signing to clue Clint in, so he could share in the good news. Bucky smiled at the couple, watching the way Richard fawned over Mary, the two of them grinning at each other, and more happiness washed over him.

Yeah, life was pretty fucking good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! They're both in the same place and neither of them is recently exploded! I'm pretty sure Bucky enjoyed checking out Clint's bow and arrows. Goodbye UST, hello Peter-to-be. ;D


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to start living. First step? Celebrate Bucky's birthday! Also, two grown men and a dog bunking up together in a childhood bedroom might not be sustainable.

One minute he was asleep, the next Clint was wide awake and frowning into the darkness. The digital clock display informed him that it was 4:17 am. Lucky lifted his head as if to ask what all the commotion was about, then settled back down. Which, okay, sleeping with the dog was something Clint had done since adopting Lucky, so nothing strange there. The problem was someone _else_ was supposed to be in the bed with them, too.

For a wild, awful moment, Clint was gripped by the conviction that everything had been a dream and Bucky was still stuck overseas. Bucky had been all but glued to Clint’s side since coming home, the two of them studying sign language together, taking Lucky for walks, sharing meals, and a bed, and pretty much getting up in each other’s personal space like old times. You know, except with orgasms. They’d had more sex in the last seven days than he’d had in the last seven _years_. Waking up to discover it was all some cruel joke his bastard of a brain was playing on him would be more in keeping with the way Clint’s life tended to play out.

“Sorry, Luck.” Clint leaned over the dog to turn on the nightstand lamp, then heaved a sigh of relief. Bucky’s dirty clothes from the day before were strewn about the room, along with other signs of his existence. Clint hugged the dog, feeling drunk on relief. “Yay, not crazy!”

Bucky’s coat and boots were MIA, so he likely wasn’t in the bathroom, or chilling downstairs. Clint got dressed, grabbed his phone, pet Lucky, turned off the lights, and headed out. Everything was quiet and dark, which made sense, considering the time. Clint yawned and scratched the back of his head as he crept through the house. Bucky would have left a note or sent a text before going anywhere. The backyard had more privacy than the front porch, so Clint headed that way. And, sure enough, a quick peek out the window revealed a shadowy Bucky-shaped figure sitting at the bottom of the back steps, smoking a cigarette.

Bucky jumped about a mile when the backdoor opened, his cigarette flying out of his hand and into the snow covered grass. Clint was pretty sure he cursed, but it was too dark to read his lips.

“Sorry.” Clint felt extra sorry by the time he was close enough to see Bucky’s face. It was pretty obvious he’d been crying. “Aw, Buck.”

A tight smile contorted Bucky’s face, but only for a moment, which was good. They’d already agreed not to hide how they were really feeling from each other. Pretending you were fine when you weren’t was exhausting, and also kinda pointless since they were dealing with a whole shared trauma situation.

Bucky took Clint by the wrist, and pulled him closer, thumb stroking back and forth, back and forth. His fingers were cold, sent a little shiver through Clint. “How long you been out here?”

 _Shit_. Clint’s night vision was good, but it was still too dark to read lips comfortably, and the wrist stroking-thing was also a comfort-thing, so Bucky was still holding on instead of signing. “Um…”

The fingers around his wrist tightened before letting go. Bucky gestured first to the backdoor, then up, so Clint took point and headed back upstairs. Lucky looked annoyed when the lights came on, but got over it when Clint stripped to his boxers and climbed in the bed, settling down to watch Bucky undress. He hadn’t bothered putting on a shirt, or struggling into real pants, so once the coat came off he was wearing his thin pajama bottoms, and nothing else.

Seeing the aftermath of Bucky’s amputation stirred up an emotional shit-storm each and every time, but how could it not? The world had gone and hurt the one person who made Clint believe there was a _point_ to being alive. So anger, sure, and sorrow, because every bit of Bucky was perfect, and you did _not_ mess with perfection. Sympathy, too. Things were harder for Buck now, frustrating and painful sometimes, which wasn’t fair. Fear was in the mix, tinged with a general sense of his own mortality, and a squirmy awful sensation he couldn’t quite pin down.

The thing was, Clint had spent a lot of time staring at Bucky’s arms, watching the shift and play of muscles and inky skin, and all of those tattoos were gone now. The little Devil Clint on Bucky’s shoulder? Poof! The Howling Commandos patch Steve had placed beneath it? Bye bye. Natasha’s surreal and and somewhat disturbing masterpiece along the inside of Bucky’s forearm, which had made it appear as if his skin had been opened to reveal some kind of robotic inner workings? All gone. They’d been erased and something about the swiftness and ease surrounding it all being _undone_ freaked Clint out.

But, in the end, whenever the storm in Clint’s chest settled back down again, he was always left with love, relief, and gratitude.

Bucky sat heavily on the bed, snuggling up against Clint’s knees, facing him, so they could talk. He shivered, which made him look extra pathetic, so Clint did some adjusting, and yanked the blanket up over Bucky’s shoulders.

“Bad dream,” Bucky signed, mouthing the words. Clint could tell now when he was actually speaking, or only moving his lips. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Wanna talk about it?”

Bucky shrugged, expression darkening when this made the blanket slip off his shoulders. “Nothin’ much to say. The usual. Me getting blowed up, only you weren’t there with me. Couldn’t find you.” Bucky wiped absently at his tears. “That sucked.” Clint slid a hand beneath the fabric of Bucky’s pajamas so he could stroke his calf, wanting to offer the comfort of skin on skin contact. “And, uh, my arm felt like someone was burnin’ it off. Pain’s what woke me up.”

All Clint could think was, “Not fair, not fair, not fair.” Bad enough Bucky had to lose his arm, it was extra fucking cruel that his body had its signals crossed, and wanted to make Bucky relive what had to be the most painful moment of his life.

“Any better now?”

“Yeah. Only lasted about a minute this time. Not so bad.”

_Right, only a minute of agony, no big deal._

Clint squeezed Bucky’s ankle, and wished there was something he could do to make it all better. “Still a shitty way to start your birthday.”

Bucky’s face scrunched up all confused and adorable, but then he laughed, making Clint’s stomach flip-flop with appreciation. Bucky had a great laugh. He missed hearing it, but seeing it happen was pretty great, too. Buck already looked more relaxed, the rigidity bleeding away, leaving him slouched against Clint’s legs, eyes at half-mast.

“I must be gettin’ old if I’m forgetting my own birthday.”

“Yeah, ‘cause twenty-eight is ancient.” Clint stroked up along the underside of Bucky’s calf, watched him yawn. “Wanna see if you can get a few more hours of sleep, old man?”

Bucky leaned forward, curled a hand around Clint’s jaw, and kissed him. He tasted like cigarettes, but that was okay by Clint. “Twenty-eight is gonna be the best year yet,” he said with a smile. “I’ll get the lights.”

The bed was only a single, so it was a tight fit. After about three minutes of squirming and wriggling, Clint had Bucky curled around one side of him, and Lucky tucked along the other. It felt a little like he might combust from all the warmth, but whatever. He had his boys there with him to watch his back, which was why Clint was able to sleep at all. Besides, it was way more comfortable than the floor of the closet.

And a couple hours later, when Clint woke up again, it wasn’t to panic over Bucky being MIA, since he was very much _right there_ , morning wood poking Clint in the thigh. Sensing he was awake now, Bucky shifted his hips, grinding against Clint.

“Mm, birthday boner.”

Bucky’s answering laughter shook the bed, and made Clint feel all warm and fuzzy inside, because he was a lovesick idiot. His partner in crime was just as bad, if not worse, so at least Clint knew he was in good company. He rolled, snagged Bucky around the middle, and pulled him on top, loving the way it made his man blush. Clint wasn’t the smartest guy, but he was observant as fuck, so it hadn’t escaped his notice that Buck got all hot and bothered when Clint did that sort of thing.

“Out of the bed, Lucky,” Clint called, pointing to the floor, “and cover your eye.”

“Want me to—”

Clint lost the rest of whatever Bucky said, too focused on repositioning him so that Bucky was on his knees, with the pajama pants yanked out of the way. Clint was proud of his execution. One minute Bucky was sprawled on top of him and smiling down at Clint as he asked the question, and the next he was upright, sans pants, with his dick in Clint’s mouth.

Bucky’s entire body shook in response, hips moving on autopilot, thrusting deeper. Clint slurped his way back off of Bucky, and grinned up at him. “Birthday blowjob?”

“Have I mentioned how much I fuckin’ love you?”

Clint laughed. “Take it that’s a yes?”

Bucky nodded, signed _yes_ several times just to make it clear, then braced his hand against the wall above the headboard.

“Kay, cool, give me a sec…”

Sure, it was Bucky’s birthday, but Clint wanted to be able to play with his own dick, too. Once he got his boxers shoved aside, Clint made some adjustments to the way Bucky was positioned, grabbed him by the ass, and—

There was probably a moan that went with the full body shudder. Clint sighed, but it was hard— _ha_!—to feel anything but contentment in the moment. Bucky tasted awesome, and felt even better, was being real sweet and letting Clint control the depth and speed of penetration so he didn’t gag.

Thinking about penetration while holding onto Bucky’s ass sent waves of heat rolling through Clint’s body. Hands and mouths and rubbing their dicks all over each other had been the extent of things so far, and each and every instance was the best sex he’d ever had. Like, the moment he was in right now, with Bucky’s cock sliding in and out of his mouth— _hot, so fucking hard, leaving a salty, slightly bitter taste on his tongue_ —his body trembling with restraint? Best sex ever. When Bucky let go of the wall so he could cradle the back of Clint’s head? Even better sex. And when Clint gave in, and opted to take one of his hands off of Bucky’s ass so he could stroke his own dick? Yup, best ever, all over again.

Fuck, and Bucky had eased up on showing restraint, was taking over the rhythm, pushing himself deeper, changing the angle, so that Clint could see him better, see the way Bucky was staring down at him, his pale eyes being swallowed up by the black of his pupils. Bucky’s face was something else, beautiful and intense as he watched himself fucking Clint’s mouth.

Clint moaned around Bucky’s dick, swallowed but still felt drool begin to run down his cheek. He made a mental note to suggest they invest in a camera and tripod, once they had their own place. Maybe they could mirror all the walls and the ceiling of the bedroom while they were at it. He really wanted to know what they looked like together, him fucking his own fist, lips stretched obscenely around Bucky’s dick while he thrust in and out of Clint's mouth, the head of his cock _almost_ but not quite triggering Clint’s gag reflex on each thrust.

Also, he needed to figure out how the hell you got rid of a gag reflex, so he could give a porno style blowjob, get all red in the face while taking Bucky’s cock into his throat.

Lips and tongue and everywhere else tingling, Clint momentarily let go of his dick, opting to caress Bucky’s ass with both hands again, instead. Firm, round cheeks, all smooth and perky. He squeezed and kneaded, eyes fluttering closed as he sucked Bucky’s dick, wriggling his tongue in a tease, knowing Buck was a fan. The fact that Clint now knew this from first hand experience was pretty fucking awesome, left him with a sense of pride. Someday, all the sexy stuff would feel normal, but for now it was still so brand new that Clint was continually awestruck by the realization that Bucky was his boyfriend.

Clint felt like he was pretty good at sucking dick for someone who’d only been doing it for seven days. He was also a bit surprised by how much he got off on the act. Like, _achingly_ hard. He’d fantasized about it, sure, but it had still been intimidating the first time out. In his experience fantasies and real life had a way of not complying with each other. And yet, there he was, taking Bucky’s big dick like he’d been doing it for years, and loving every second. The sensations wrapped up in dragging his lips over the head, of licking and slurping and sucking up and down the shaft, or lapping at his balls. The feeling of Bucky getting harder and harder, the adoring, amazed look he got in his eyes while Clint was sucking him off. The thrill of making him come, or of making himself come while Bucky’s dick was in his mouth.

Bucky caught him off guard by thrusting with a bit too much enthusiasm, the head of his cock pushing against the back of Clint’s throat, prompting Clint to shove at his hips before he ruined his newfound sense of cocksucking pride by puking on his boyfriend’s dick.

“Fuck, m’sorry, baby,” Bucky said, stroking the side of Clint’s face, “you okay?”

“Uh huh,” was Clint’s eloquent response. He wrapped a fist around Bucky’s cock and stroked him while catching his breath. “Shallow would be better.”

The muscles of Bucky’s abdomen rippled in a hypnotizing way as Clint stroked him, so much so that Bucky had to tap him on the top of his head to get his attention. “We can change positions.”

“Sure, if you want, but I’m digging the whole face fucking thing.” He coaxed Bucky to come closer again, teased his tongue across the head of his cock.

“You sure?” Bucky signed.

“Uh huh. Super hot.”

Bucky sank his fingers into Clint’s hair, stroking and massaging his scalp for a moment, then held on tight while dragging the head of his cock against Clint’s lips. Bucky’s breathing was all wild and erratic, his eyes laser focused on Clint’s as he started playing keep away with his dick, brushing it back and forth, only to pull back right when Clint tried to wrap his lips around the head. Bucky used his grip on Clint’s hair to keep him from lunging forward, because he was a fucking infuriating bastard.

For whatever reason though, it was hot as hell, and Clint couldn’t resist jacking himself off again while darting out with his tongue, or parting his lips in anticipation of Bucky slipping back inside, only to be denied over and over again. If Clint wanted, he could overpower Bucky, and get back down to it, but it was kind of obvious Bucky was getting off on what was happening. His body was vibrating with restraint as he slid himself up and across Clint’s lips, along his cheek, making Clint moan, partly in frustration.

“Aw, Buck, don’t make me beg,” he whined.

Fuck, and the look this got him! Must have been the magic words or something. Bucky let go of Clint's hair in order to guide his dick past Clint’s lips, and he actually found himself sighing with relief. Oh, how his life had changed… and for the better, no less.

Clint wrapped his fingers around Bucky’s prick, stroked him slow and purposeful, rhythm synced up to how he was tugging on his own dick, while going to town on the head of Bucky’s cock with his mouth. Slurping, sucking, dragging his lips back and forth, letting it slip back out of his mouth only to suck him back down again. Yup, it was stupid hot, especially seeing the way Bucky was watching him. _Felt_ good, too, made his lips and tongue and balls tingle, made his face feel all hot. Again and again, Clint teased his tongue against Bucky’s cockhead, chased down the taste of him, loving the vulnerable expression on Buck’s face as he watched with disbelief. Bucky’s thighs were shaking now, and he was chewing on his lower lip, holding onto the headboard, and working his hips with perfect, tiny thrusts.

_Best, best sex ever._

Clint’s dick was throbbing, demanding he stroke it harder, faster, but there was something _else_ he wanted to do with his hands. Heart hammering away with a sudden case of nerves, Clint let go of Bucky’s cock, and slid his hands up the backs of Bucky’s thighs instead. Stroked over his ass, along his hips, up across his chest, squeezing his pecs before thumbing his nipples. The taste of Bucky intensified, and so Clint did it again, pinching and rubbing, watching as Bucky’s head tipped back in pleasure.

Then, as casually as he could manage, Clint slipped two of his fingers into his mouth alongside Bucky’s cock, covered them in spit. Popped them back out again. Watched Bucky’s head snap up, his eyes wide, expression all hungry and wild as he realized what Clint was doing. Clint sucked more of Bucky into his mouth, grabbed an ass cheek to spread him open, and teased the tips of his slippery fingers across the tight pucker of Bucky’s asshole.

Oh yeah, Bucky jerked in response, but he managed to keep from shoving his cock down Clint’s throat, which was much appreciated. Clint did it again, a teasing sweep of fingers before _pushing_ against the ring of muscle, but not breaching. The angle was awkward, and Clint couldn’t quite see Bucky’s face, but out of the corner of his eye it looked like his mouth was moving. Bucky’s skin was flushed everywhere, the taste of him coating Clint’s tongue, entire body seemingly vibrating with pleasure. Clint kept it up, stroking down between his ass cheeks again and again, pressing behind Bucky’s balls, before finally pushing the tip of one finger _inside_ and—

_Oh, yeah, record breaking best sex ever!_

Bucky went off like a goddamn fireworks display, head thrown back, hips jerking, cock slipping from Clint’s lips as he came. Some made it onto Clint’s outstretched tongue, while the rest covered his chin and cheek. _Hot. As. Hell._ Bucky had slapped his hand over his mouth to stifle whatever noises he was making, so Clint helped him out, stroked him through his orgasm, while keeping the fingers of his other hand busy teasing Bucky’s ass, until he batted Clint’s hand away and collapsed.

Clint felt smug as fuck as he wrapped his arms around the shaking, pathetic, squirming wreck of a birthday boy now sprawled across his chest. With a contented sigh, Clint licked his lips, and dragged a thumb along his chin and cheek, trying to gather up the mess Bucky had left behind.

After catching his breath, Bucky raised his head, looking a lot like he’d been run over by a sex-truck. “Holy shit, Clint.”

“I know, I’m awesome, right?”

Bucky’s smile lit up the whole damn room. “You sure are, sweetheart. How ‘bout letting me return the favor?”

Clint squirmed and chewed on his lower lip a minute, but being nervous was for suckers. Bucky had yet to get weird about sex, so he wasn’t sure why he was worried in the first place. “If it’s cool, I wanna just… I dunno. Rub my dick against your ass and come like that?”

Whew boy, Bucky’s face flushed dark, his smile shifting over to something predatory. “Want me bent over?” Clint nodded, and Bucky dismounted, flopping onto his back. “I’m down. Go ahead and come wherever you want, baby.”

“My boyfriend is the best,” Clint sang, snagging lube from the nightstand. He got himself all slick while watching Bucky roll over, face turned to the side, ass in the air, pajama pants still around his knees. “Best, best, _best_.”

Clint spread some of the lube between Bucky’s cheeks, then rubbed the head of his cock against Bucky’s asshole, remembering the way he’d clenched down on the tip of Clint’s finger while coming. Tried to imagine what it would look like— _feel_ like—having Bucky stretched around his prick. Imagined sinking inside the tight heat of his body. Then Clint thought about _taking_ Bucky’s cock. Couldn’t decide which was more exciting. Maybe they could do a coin toss to decide who got to fuck the other first?

Whatever, there was no rush. The journey was pretty awesome, as was watching himself slip and slide between the beautiful globes of Bucky’s ass. Mm, and he still had the taste of Bucky in his mouth, which… yeah… and… _and_ … he’d said Clint could come wherever he wanted, so…

Clint grabbed his dick as he felt his orgasm approaching, used his other hand to spread Bucky’s asscheeks apart, and stroked himself over the edge, shooting across Bucky’s pretty little hole, giggling like an idiot. Oh yeah, another of his filthy to-do list items checked off!

“Best sex ever,” he announced, flopping down on the bed beside Bucky. “Hi, birthday boy.”

Bucky was grinning like a lunatic. “Hi yourself.” Clint watched Bucky wriggle around until he was on his back again, fingers dipping down between his legs and coming back sticky. “Pervert.”

Clint felt his face flush, even though it was obvious Bucky was only teasing. Still, he couldn't help himself, had to pull a pillow over his head, the sudden embarrassment overwhelming. “Aw.”

This prompted a tug of war over the pillow, the two of them wrestling across the bed, Bucky managing to triumph by fighting dirty, and tickling Clint’s sides. He sprawled across Clint, pinning him down, the intense look back in his eyes, like he was trying to peer directly into Clint's mind.

“Don't go hiding from me, darlin’,” Bucky said, expression softening. A couple pieces of his hair were sticking to his forehead with sweat, and Clint felt the sudden need to brush them aside, like he'd done countless times in the hospital. “You'll break my heart.”

Oh, and that wasn't fair. Clint dragged Bucky down for a kiss despite their morning breath and still having the taste of Bucky’s come lingering in his mouth. It made Clint’s chest ache, like it was struggling to contain all the feelings he had for Bucky.

Something prompted Bucky to drag his mouth away and look over his shoulder, and Clint’s heart started beating all crazy, worried that someone had walked in to demand they have quieter sex. Clint propped himself up on an elbow, needing to get some idea of what was happening. When he spotted Lucky standing there with his leash in his mouth, Clint fell back against the bed laughing hard enough to make his head hurt.

Bucky gave him a, “What gives?” look while climbing out of bed and tugging up his pants.

“We need our own place, _ASAP_.” Clint used the pillow to wipe the tears from his face, still giggling. “I can’t tell if we’re that annoying loud sex couple, and it’s giving me a complex. What if someone heard me choking on your dick? Your poor dads, man, they’re _so nice_. I don’t wanna make them think about us fucking.”

A pair of pants landed on Clint’s stomach, making him jump in surprise. The look on Bucky’s face was _priceless_. He didn't exactly embarrass easily, yet there he was with his face bright pink, appearing horrified and uncomfortable and more than a little guilty. “Ugh, shut up!”

“How do you think I feel? I’m the pervert sexing up their sweet baby boy.”

“Yeah, okay, fair enough.” Bucky’s blush intensified somehow. “I, ah… wasn’t exactly quiet this morning.”

“‘Cause I'm that amazing in bed?” Clint asked, pulling on his pants. Bucky threw a t-shirt at his head, but he managed to dodge before it hit him in the face. “Knew it.”

“Alright, Mr. Amazing, how ‘bout you take Lucky out to do his thing while I hop in the shower and clean up the mess you made.”

“Deal.”

Bucky waited for Clint to finish getting dressed before opening the door, then stopped him before he could leave the room. “Hang on,” he signed, and leaned in to suck at a spot on Clint’s jaw before rubbing over it with his thumb a few times. Clint raised an eyebrow in question, then felt himself blush again when Bucky mouthed, “Evidence,” and winked.

Lucky pulled him along toward the stairs, making it clear he was over them being stupid humans, which made sense. At this point they’d probably traumatized the poor dog for life. “Sorry, Luck.”

Clint was able to grab a plastic bag for poop and get out of the house without encountering anyone, which was a relief. All joking aside, not being able to hear how loud they were being while screwing had become a legitimate source of anxiety. Then there was the rest of it, like squeezing into Bucky’s tiny bed. Cozy, sure, but also uncomfortable. Living out of his duffle bag had gotten old. So had sharing a kitchen, living room, and—thankfully more than one—bathroom with six other guys.

Bucky had an advantage. He’d only been back in New York a week, they were _his_ family, and he’d grown up in the house. Big surprise, there hadn’t been much incentive on his part to get out and look for an apartment; he was home. Meanwhile, as one day rolled into the next, Clint felt like a guest that had overstayed his welcome. It might not be the truth ( _or was it?_ ), but that didn’t change anything.

At the very least, he was pretty sure everyone could agree that loud, frequent, and enthusiastic sex wasn’t any fun if you weren’t the one having the sex.

With a sigh, Clint watched Lucky try to decide where he wanted to poop, letting his mind wander, thinking about the plans he and Bucky had come up with back in the hospital. There was a place that existed only in his mind, and _that_ was what Clint thought of as home. It featured the two of them and the dog, surrounded by their own furniture and possessions like a couple of actual adults. Home meant that if Bucky started groping him in the kitchen, Clint wouldn’t have to worry about someone walking in and freaking out. They could stretch out in their built-for-a-couple bed, Lucky curled up at their feet, or in his own bed nearby. He could play video games in his boxer shorts while drinking beer and eating pizza and not feel like some intruding, freeloading asshole who was taking up space.

When he’d been on his own, Clint hadn’t wanted to do much by the way of building a life, preferring to wait until Bucky got home, so they could do it together. Now he was anxious and restless and wanted to get on with it already.

Clint took a deep breath, and fished out his phone, sending a quick text to Jayla before losing his nerve. She’d given Clint her number before he’d taken Lucky home that first night, which had been great for his peace of mind. Even better, Jayla didn’t seem to regret the decision, and they’d struck up a friendship. Clint made a point of sending her photos of Lucky being all cute during his recovery, and popped into the ER to see her whenever they were there for checkups.

The last time they hung out was the day after learning Bucky was finally coming home, so Clint had been in an awesome mood, all communicative and hopeful for a change. Jayla had picked up on it, of course, and by the time they’d parted ways, she’d let him know there was a vacancy in her building.

“It’s only a one bedroom,” she’d said with a smile, “but I’m guessing that’s okay by you and your ‘friend’?”

Jayla had used air quotes and everything so Clint would know he wasn’t fooling anyone.

Of course, Clint had made some excuse about needing to wait for Bucky before doing anything, and then promptly forgot all about it, too swept up in Bucky’s homecoming. Chances were the apartment was already rented, and he was bugging her over nothing, but it didn’t hurt to ask. And if it was available? Well, maybe Bucky wouldn’t be annoyed that Clint had shown initiative.

Out of the corner of his eye, Clint spotted a very familiar shape barreling down the street toward the house.

“Guess he's all healed up, huh Luck?”

Watching Steve run made Clint's stomach clench with fear, which was stupid. He was moving like someone was chasing him, but aside for a few cars, the street was early morning quiet. Still, Clint broke out in a sweat, and had a sudden and profound need to check on Bucky.

Steve's expression was blank, almost like he was moving on autopilot, and maybe he was. He jerked in surprise, stumbling to a stop when he spotted Clint across the street.

“Morning,” Steve signed.

Clint waved, hoping Steve would continue on without him. Of course, he didn't, opting to wait on the corner instead.

It wasn't that he didn't love Steve—he idolized Bucky's brother—but more that Cap left him feeling on edge these days. He'd brought the Army back with him. Whenever Steve was around, Clint found himself standing up straighter, hyper aware of his scruffy appearance, and idleness. And, maybe, sometimes, Steve's all around vibe left Clint feeling like they were about to be dropped in the middle of some shit, made him want to find some tactical gear, and a couple guns.

“It's cold,” Clint said like an idiot.

“Not once you start moving,” Steve said, carefully signing the words he knew. “Did Bucky sleep in?”

“Shower.”

Cap nodded, looking about as uncomfortable as Clint felt, which was a small consolation. “Hey, uh, are we doing anything for Bucky's birthday?”

Clint tried not to think about Bucky's ass, failed miserably. “Keeping it simple. Pizza with Natasha and your folks, then Buck wants to check out this bar in Bed-Stuy.”

It was hard to gauge what he thought about the plans since his face remained perfectly still. But then he sighed, and suddenly Steve looked like _Steve_ again. “The _last_ time I went drinking with you—”

“Hey, that was all your brother,” Clint swore, “and I'm pretty sure Bucky’s not going to be picking fights anytime soon.” The joke crash landed, resulting in a severe furrowing of Steve's brow. “A month from now? That's a different story.”

Thankfully Steve's nostrils flared and his shoulders shook; a tiny ghost of a laugh was better than nothing. “You're probably right.”

They walked back to the house in silence, the sort that meant lack of movement for Clint these days. But then Steve took him by the shoulder, pulling Clint aside once they were in the driveway. The nervousness was back, making Clint shift from foot to foot, as if he was about to get chewed out for some infraction.

“I wanted to say…” Steve struggled for a moment, jaw tight, hands still. Clint wasn't sure if he'd lost the words, or was trying to figure out what his hands were meant to be doing. “Well, thank you, I guess.”

“Huh?”

“For… For Bucky. It's… He loves you. It's pretty obvious. But, you… Getting to _be_ with you. It wasn't looking good for awhile there in the hospital. The infection was… real bad. And… If he didn't have you waiting for him back home.” Steve's jaw clenched tight again, cutting off the end of the sentence, which was good, because Clint kind of wanted to puke. “Anyway. Thank you. And congratulations. I'm happy for the two of you.”

Clint did some struggling of his own, chest tight and the words trapped. When he did speak, he wasn't sure if they even made it out into the world, because his throat felt constricted, and his vision got all blurry. “Fuck, Steve, if we're talking about saving Bucky then I should be thanking _you_.”

Steve shook his head, one of his hands gripping the outside of his thigh, as if to push away a muscle cramp. “That—”

“Shut up. I was _there_ , okay, right behind you, scared shitless. I saw you get shot, and...” Steve squeezed his eyes shut, looked a little like he might walk away and leave Clint talking to himself in the driveway. “Hell, only reason I managed to get through _any_ of it was by following you, Cap. _You’re_ the one who saved Bucky’s life. He wouldn't have made it to a hospital if it wasn't for you. And I _love_ him, Steve, more than anything or anyone in the world. So thank you.”

Clint swiped at his face, brushing aside the tears, feeling sick to his stomach. He grabbed hold of Steve to hug him, which was awkward until Steve’s arms finally came up, and wrapped around Clint, pulling him in close, and holding him tight. That was better. Steve felt solid, like the entire world could come at him and he wouldn’t budge an inch, but Clint knew better. Like he’d told Steve, he had been there, for all of it, really. Whether Steve was ready to deal with it or not, for better or worse, the experiences they’d shared had changed all of them, weakening and strengthening different aspects of what made them _them_.

When they finally let go of each other, Steve’s expression was still grim, but there was a bit more life in his eyes. “Thanks, Clint.”

“Whatever, let's both just… admit we're big damn heroes, and get on with living.”

Another of those almost laughs. It made Clint's heart ache, because Steve was a good guy. One of the very best guys. It wasn't fair that he didn't have someone to wrap him up safe in their arms every day, and remind him of why they’d signed up to fight in the first place. Having that went a long way, especially when sleep wouldn't come, and the pain and misery felt like it might pull you under.

Lucky did them both a favor and attempted to drag Clint into the backyard, so he let himself be led, relieved when Steve went with him. And when they came through the backdoor, there was a freshly scrubbed Bucky, standing by the coffee maker while shooting the shit with Jacques and Gabe.

Clint might not have been able to hear their cheerful, “Good mornings,” but that didn’t matter so much. He could feel the warmth washing over him, tried to send some back in return, the sick, squirmy feeling dissipating in the face of happiness and gratitude.

Embracing the sensation, Clint let Lucky off his leash, and wrapped himself around Bucky’s back, held on tight, rocking him side to side before kissing his cheek a half dozen times. They stayed that way while Bucky finished loading up the coffee maker, Clint content to ignore everything else going on around him. It was easy. Everything he needed was right there in his arms.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is kinda romantic. In a dumb ass way, of course.

Bucky shifted around until he was lying on his stomach with a pillow pulled over his head to help block out sunlight and noise. Waking up was prompting his body to report in, and since it was all _bad news_ Bucky felt it was a much better idea to dive headfirst back into the blissful oblivion of sleep. He was almost there, too, when some asshole shoved at his shoulder, sending Bucky cannonballing back into wakefulness instead.

“Fuck. _Off_ .”

Despite the impressive amount of venom that had been in his voice, and the crystal clear nature of his suggestion, Bucky was shoved _yet again_ . Losing his grip on sleep was bad enough, but the sudden and sharp movement was the absolute worst. His stomach lurched, nausea now making itself known in an unignorable sort of way, while Bucky’s head pounded in time with his beating heart.

“Knock it the fuck off,” he groaned, tightening his grip on the pillow. “M’not gettin’ up. Need sleep. Gonna die.”

More movement, and then the pillow was yanked out of his grasp despite his determination to hold onto the thing. Bucky growled like some kind of wounded animal, swiped his arm out blindly in hopes of stopping the unwelcome intrusion, but didn’t make contact with anyone.

“C’mon, you need to get up.”

“Clint, darlin’, I love you more than life itself, but if you don’t get the fuck away from me right now,” Bucky began, only to have his brain finally catch up with reality. He was lying face down, which meant Clint couldn’t see his mouth, so he’d gotten exactly _none_ of what Bucky had been saying.

With a sigh of resignation, he managed to shift onto his back without puking. Bucky tried to open his eyes, he really did, but the sunlight was like knives in his head, so he gave up and focused on breathing through his discomfort with his eyes closed.

“Hey, baby,” he slurred. “Please, if you love me, go away for a couple hours, n’ lemme sleep.”

“Are you shitting me right now? I already let you sleep in, Buck. Get your sorry ass in gear before we miss the train.”

Bucky giggled, then winced. Laughing made everything feel worse. “There ain’t a chance in hell I’m gettin’ on a train right now.”

“Buck—”

“A few hours, then we’ll go wherever you want, promise.”

There was sweet silence for a moment, and Bucky allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security. Then Clint had to go and throw a pillow at his head, shattering the illusion. Bucky’s eyes snapped open, compounding the pain and misery, but it was a good thing, because open eyes meant seeing Clint’s face before doing something stupid, like telling him to fuck off again when he was obviously upset.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked, despite being worried about the answer. Clint didn’t upset easily.

Clint opened his mouth, then closed it again, his smile unnatural and stiff. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Sleep off your hangover,” he said, and whatever the hell was going on, Bucky didn’t like it, not one bit. It looked like Clint was disappointed, and trying to hide it, and that wasn’t any kind of good. “I left you some water and aspirin. Drink up, I’ll fill the glass again before heading out.”

Before Clint could move, Bucky snagged him around the wrist, squeezed. “Hold on, my brain ain’t exactly workin’ yet, it’s still all pickled. Where are you going?”

“Bed-Stuy,” Clint said, keeping his eyes focused on Bucky’s mouth. “I can go alone though, it’s cool. It’s probably not that nice a place, anyway, or else it’d be rented already, right? No point in you puking your guts up on a train for a dud.”

At first, the words made no sense, but then everything settled into place, and Bucky felt sick for a different reason entirely. It was the awful _you fucked up, and let down someone you love_ sensation. He hated that feeling, but when the person in question was Clint, it was an extra special sort of awful.

Bucky scrubbed his hand over his face. “Fuck me,” he hissed, keeping the words hidden beneath his palm.

If the idea of staggering to the bathroom was intimidating, a brisk walk out in the cold followed by a train ride sounded downright nightmarish. But… _not_ going meant Clint would make the trip to Bed-Stuy on his own, so as not to break their appointment with Jayla’s landlord after she’d gone to the trouble of setting it up for them.

When he got there, Clint would walk through the empty apartment all alone, probably only catching half of what the landlord was telling him, a forced smile on his face as he stared out a window, and opened a closet or two. Bucky could see it all in his mind, the sad little look that’d be in Clint’s eyes while he roamed around the place with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Bucky’s heart seized up with guilt and shame. The landlord would probably be confused, ask something like, “I thought you said it was for a couple?” and force Clint to explain that his piece of shit boyfriend was too hungover to get his sorry ass out of bed.

Worse still, if he’d listened to Clint the night before, he wouldn’t be hungover in the first place. They’d been out celebrating his birthday, and right around when everyone else was ready to call it a night, Bucky had ordered a round of shots that no one wanted, so he’d decided to finish them all on his own.

Bucky mentally poked at a hazy recollection of their conversation.

“Whoa, hey, slow down, man, you haven’t exactly been drinking lately,” Clint had reminded him. “Your tolerance is for shit.”

Bucky had planted a sloppy kiss on Clint. “M’ perfectly fine, darlin’.”

“We’re seeing that place tomorrow, remember?” Clint wiped his mouth dry, but there was an indulgent smile on his face. “I’m gonna be pissed if you blow it off.”

“It’s our first apartment showing together,” Bucky remembered saying. “No way I’m missin’ that kinda super gay sunset milestone moment. Promise.”

Clint had kissed him, and Natasha had flicked water at them right around when Bucky started kissing back a bit too enthusiastically, and everyone had laughed. Yet, here Bucky was, about to break his promise, and instead of calling him on it Clint was trying to be nice about the whole thing.

Staying in bed would probably be the smart move, given how awful he felt, but there was no way in hell Bucky could do it now that his brain had kicked into gear. It was a struggle, but he managed to sit up, swallow the aspirin, and down the glass of water.

“If we’re short on time I’m gonna need help gettin’ dressed,” Bucky said, neck going hot with embarrassment. “But I gotta piss first.”

“Hey, no, it’s cool,” Clint swore. “I didn’t realize you were this hungover, or I wouldn’t have woken you up.”

“I got this.”

“You look like a zombie, Buck. Get back in bed.”

Bucky shook his head, and regretted it immediately, the entire room swimming out of focus and stomach lurching in response. Somehow, he survived, and even got to his feet, although Bucky had to hold onto the dresser, and then the wall in order to get to the door without feeling like he was going to fall over. Somewhere behind him, Clint carried on with the protests, but Bucky tuned it out, focused on getting to the bathroom instead.

Once he finished puking his guts up, Bucky felt worlds better, although a glance in the mirror confirmed Clint’s zombie diagnosis. The bloodshot eyes and sickly pallor were bad enough, but he hadn’t shaved in a week either, and his hair was out of control, sticking up in some spots and matted to his head in others. Back when they were still on base, Steve had talked him into a haircut once he was finally out of his hospital bed. Bucky hadn’t bothered since—more for the novelty of not _having_ to cut it than anything else—which meant it was sort of shaggy and floppy on the best of days.

“And this ain’t one of your better days, pal,” Bucky muttered to himself.

Now that his stomach had stopped trying to escape his body, Bucky could feel the need for sleep creeping back in around the edges, poised to drag him under. The longer he was conscious, the more Bucky became convinced that he might still be drunk. Getting back in bed would be _so very advisable_ , but...

“Don’t be that guy,” he snarled at his reflection. “Not with Clint. Not once, not ever.”

It took a stupid amount of concentration because of the way his hand was shaking and his vision blurring, but Bucky managed to get toothpaste squeezed onto his toothbrush so he could scrub the awful taste out of his mouth. Once that was sorted, he headed back to his room, not surprised to see Clint wearing his very best, “Are you serious?” expression.

“Dude, I think you actually look worse now. Go back to sleep, already.”

Bucky grabbed a pair of jeans off the back of a chair, and tossed them to Clint. “Help me into these.”

Clint looked like he wanted to argue some more, but he dropped down to one knee and held the pants in place so Bucky could step into them. With quick, efficient movements, Clint had them pulled up, pausing before zipping and buttoning so as to allow Bucky time to adjust himself first. A thermal shirt was next, then a t-shirt, Clint stepping away for a moment to snag a pair of socks, and retrieve Bucky’s boots from where he’d kicked them across the room the night before.

Just because it was practical didn’t mean it rankled any less. Under normal circumstances Bucky would have managed it all on his own. He wasn’t _helpless_ . Everything took longer, was all, and they didn’t have time for him to be fumbling around with his shoelaces. Clint wasn’t going to pity him, so it’d be stupid not to ask for help. Still, a wild sort of frustration blazed its way across Bucky’s emotional landscape, leaving his jaw tight, and his head pounding from more than the hangover.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Clint asked, holding up Bucky’s coat.

“A promise is a promise, sweetheart,” Bucky said. “Besides, I got a good feelin’ about this place. Maybe the universe kept it vacant for us ‘cause it owes us one?”

“Right,” Clint drawled, snorting with disbelief. “That sounds _just_ like how things work. Here, you’re gonna want these.” Clint handed Bucky a pair of sunglasses before shrugging himself into his coat, and patting down his pockets to make sure he had everything. “Bet you ten dollars you puke before we make it to the station.”

“Shut up, Hawkeye.”

“Sorry, couldn’t hear you,” Clint said, smiling sweetly as he headed out the door. “I’m deaf.”

Bucky grabbed a baseball cap off the back of the door on the way out, figuring it was the best option he had as far as making his hair look respectable went. His hand was kept on the wall going down the stairs, since the railing was on his left and inaccessible. Bucky had broken out in a sweat by the time they’d reached the bottom, meaning a chill ran right through him the second they stepped outside into the cold.

“So many regrets,” he mumbled.

It was only a hangover, he’d survived worse. Or so Bucky tried to remind himself as he followed Clint, weaving a bit as he walked. He was used to bouncing back after a night of heavy drinking, not crashing and burning. Considering the punishment his body had endured over the last couple of months, Bucky supposed it only made sense that he felt like utter garbage.

There were dark, hazy patches where memories should have been, but were not. Bucky was pretty sure everyone had been having a good time, or as good as could be expected. Steve had nursed the same drink all night, but Clint and Natasha had helped him with the pitcher of beer. Laughter, conversation, a promise from Tasha to give him another tattoo once he decided what he wanted next. Clint offering the same, if Natasha was willing to let him borrow her equipment.

Maybe it was all the talk of tattoos that had put him in a funk. Steve had given him the disapproving look around drink number three, and Bucky barely managed to bite back his standard response of, “Blame the devil on my shoulder, Stevie, I’m just following orders,” because the joke didn’t really work without the arm or the tattoo.

Bucky was missing a lot more than a limb and some ink, though. Their booth only comfortably seated four, which was _wrong_ . Last time he’d celebrated his birthday, there were eight other people with them, but they were all dead and in the ground now. That didn’t stop Bucky from keeping an eye on the door all night, as if the rest of their crew was going to show up at any minute, and need to be waved over and accommodated at their table.

The booze made holding onto the reality of their death somewhat difficult, so whenever the truth of it hit home again it only made Bucky want to drink _more_ . Hence the ill advised round of shots, and his current predicament. And as sick as he felt, the urge was _still_ there, a strange sort of churning urgency in his chest coupled with a little voice in his head, one that liked the idea of popping into a convenience store along the way to grab a bottle of something.

Clint was moving at a fair clip, so Bucky did his best to keep up, head swimming and stomach roiling. But that was good in a way, kept him focused more on his body, and less on everything else, like that drink he really shouldn’t have, or how the parked cars on the street and the piles of trash they passed felt ominous. He wanted to ask Clint to slow down, if only so he could have a bit more time to get a grip on their surroundings. Instead, Bucky trundled along in Clint’s wake, trusting him to keep them safe.

“You owe me ten bucks,” Bucky announced once they were on the platform.

“Bullshit.” Clint fished a tissue and a stick of gum out of his pockets, and handed them over, brow furrowed.

“Hey, I made it to the station _before_ puking.” Bucky spat into the trashcan a couple times before popping the gum in his mouth. “Pay up.”

“So gross, Buck,” Clint said mournfully. “Now we look like a couple of degenerates.”

Bucky glanced around, noting how the rest of their fellow commuters looked away, trying not to get caught staring. “Hey, at least I did it before we got on the train.”

“Yeah. Speaking of which.”

Trying to focus on the movement of the train as it pulled in the station made Bucky’s head hurt, so he closed his eyes while they waited for it to come to a stop. Clint wove his way through the crowd like a pro, slipping past a couple suits in order to snag them a seat with a good vantage point. The train was packed though, so it was only the one seat.

“Go on, you’ll only fall over otherwise,” Clint insisted, and Bucky wasn’t stupid enough to argue.

The train was stifling, prompting Bucky to yank off his cap, and tug open his coat. The heat was cranked up in an attempt to combat the cold weather, but it was more the number of people surrounding them and the proximity of so many unfamiliar bodies that left Bucky clenching his jaw and breaking out in a sweat.

Since coming home, he’d spent his time hanging out with his family, or in bed with Clint. One trip to the VA by car. His birthday night out. Aside from them taking Lucky for walks, or Bucky popping down to the corner store for a pack of smokes, he’d mostly been holed up indoors. Now, it felt like he was in a fucking pressure cooker, surrounded by noise and stink and potential threats, unarmed and entirely off his game thanks to the hangover.

Cool fingers pushed his sweat damp hair back from his forehead, prompting Bucky to look up in surprise. “You okay?” Clint signed.

“I’m sweatin’ my balls off and feel like we’re about to get ambushed,” Bucky signed as best he could, moving his lips but keeping silent. “Other than that, peachy.”

“Yeah, I still got a bit of that going on.” Clint had shifted so as to better position himself between Bucky and the people around them. “Get’s easier the more time you spend in Fort Livingroom.”

“Good to know.”

Bucky swallowed, and dragged the sleeve of his coat across his face, trying to wipe away the sweat. He felt grimey, the need for a shower making his skin crawl. Since his prolonged stint as an invalid, the smell of his own body odor brought a nice bit of baggage along with it, made him feel like he was right back in the hospital again. At least there wasn’t an antiseptic smell in the train.

“Remind me to get my concealed carry ASAP.” Finger itching for the comfort of a trigger, Bucky laughed, surprising both of them and sending Clint’s eyebrows creeping toward his hairline. “I’m an _unarmed_ civilian now. Literally.”

Clint groaned. “Not funny, jackass.”

“It’s a _little_ funny.” Bucky tried on a smile. “Hey, how bad was I last night?” Clint’s expression said it all. “Right, out with it.”

“Well,” Clint said, keeping his voice low, “on the way home you almost got in a fist fight ‘cause you thought this dude whistled at Tasha, when he was actually whistling at his dog.”

“Shit.”

Clint shrugged and stared down at his shoes, which was definitely not a good sign. “You kinda cried all over Steve, too, on account of it just being the four of us this year, and how none of them are ever gonna have another birthday again.”

“God _damnit_ .” Bucky groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, trying and failing to conjure a memory of the conversation. “How’d he handle it?”

“Captain Rogers autopilot.”

Bucky wanted to punch himself in the mouth. “Maybe I should lay off the booze until I get my bearings again,” he said once he was done mentally berating himself. “What do you think?”

“That if you have to ask the question, the answer’s probably yes?”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” Bucky tugged his cap back on, and hunkered down in the seat, still feeling exposed and edgey. “Sorry, sweetheart. I know I’m lettin’ down the team here.”

“Buck. Seriously? Shut the fuck up. I’m deaf, not blind, I can see how much you’re hurting right now.” Clint’s hands stilled for a moment while he waited for Bucky to look up and meet his eyes. “And you’re not letting me down by being fucked up over everything that’s happened. I sure as hell am. Same with Natasha and Steve.”

“I know, it’d be crazy not to be… well, _crazy_ right now. I’m apologizing ‘cause of the hangover.” Bucky’s words seemed to ease the tension out of Clint’s body. “I’m a disaster this morning, and you deserve better than that.”

“Yeah, but you’re _my_ disaster. Seeing you suck it up and power through is kinda romantic, even,” Clint added, giving Bucky a playful kick to the shin. “In a dumb ass way, of course.”

“Of course,” Bucky laughed, and gazed up into Clint’s blue, blue eyes, the panic bleeding out. “I love you, baby.”

“Love you, too, Buck,” Clint answered, ducking his head a bit, his smile getting away from him. “Try to chill out and focus on your breathing. I’ll keep an eye on things. Only a couple more stops.”

From a normal person the words would be meaningless, but Clint had saved his life more than once over the years. Bucky took him up on the offer, letting the back of his head rest against the glass of the window, eyes falling closed as they moved along. It was still stuffy, and he wanted off of the train and away from the crowd, but Bucky could handle it now that he no longer felt like bullets were about to start flying.

If it was this rough for him, Bucky couldn’t imagine how vulnerable Clint had felt, going out into the city alone and unable to rely on one of his senses. The thought of it made Bucky’s heart ache, and reinforced the understanding that he’d made the right call by dragging his ass out of bed that morning.

Clint gave his shoulder a squeeze as they approached their stop, then offered an arm to help Bucky to his feet. Bucky couldn’t resist, and used it as an opportunity to pull Clint into a quick hug before they headed off to see what would probably end up being a criminally overpriced rathole.

Then they were back outside, walking through a much shittier part of Brooklyn than where his folks lived. If anything, it should have had Bucky feeling on high alert again, but for whatever reason, that wasn’t the case. Most of the buildings they passed looked like they’d seen better days, but the block seemed to be trying to keep it together.

Bucky studied the people they passed, appreciating the way they simultaneously kept their guard up as they moved through the neighborhood, but had a smile and a hello for anyone they recognized. The place had a perfect blend of gritty, unpretentious hard living, mixed with an undercurrent of solidarity to it, the kind of vibe Bucky had always loved about New York. A _real_ neighborhood, not some gentrified and sanitized environment trying to pass itself off as New York.

The landlord was waiting for them outside the brownstone, a big guy in his mid-fifties with bright red cheeks who was wearing way too much denim for any one person. “You Clint?”

“Guilty,” Clint answered, raising his hand before extending it to shake. “You must be Hank. This is Bucky.”

Bucky followed suit, hoping the fresh air had helped, and that he looked at least a little bit better than he felt. It’d be a bummer if the place actually turned out to be nice, and they wound up not getting it because he looked crazy and stank of stale cigarettes, sweat, and booze. “Nice to meet ya.”

“Pleasure. Jayla says you boys just wrapped up your last tour of duty?”

Clint nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunching a bit. “Yeah, sorta. Medical discharge. Uh, just to warn you, if I don’t answer a question or something it’ll be ‘cause I’m deaf.”

Bucky was tempted to chime in and explain that he’d had both the arms back when he’d enlisted, but since the guy didn’t know them, the joke would only come off as creepy. Better to keep his mouth shut, so Hank didn’t mistake them for two ticking timebombs of veterans.

Hank’s eyes widened a bit as he nodded, but his smile stayed put. “Alright, then, I’ll keep that in mind, Clint. We’re up on the third floor if you want to follow me.”

As far as brownstones went, Bucky had seen better, but he’d seen a hell of a lot worse, too. The buzzers all looked to be in good working order, apartments labeled only by letter, rather than listing names. Decent front doors, bars on the windows, halfway secure looking mailboxes in the entryway.

Once you were inside, the place even had a bit of charm to it. They’d updated the windows and other necessities as the building aged, but hadn’t monkeyed with the original aesthetics, which was nice. There were a couple of kids’ bikes chained up under the stairs, here and there a colorful doormat, or the smell of exotic spices wafting through the hallways, along with the muffled sounds of life being lived behind the closed doors they passed.

“Hope steps aren’t a problem for you,” Hank said, sounding a bit winded by the time they got to the third floor. That he remembered to wait until Clint could see his mouth moving before speaking made Bucky want to shake the guy’s hand again.

“Nah, it’ll be good exercise,” Clint said. “Keep me from getting fat and lazy now that I’m a civilian and all.”

“That’s the spirit.” Hank unlocked and opened the door. “Let’s see what you think.”

Clint shared an excited little smile with Bucky before following Hank inside. The apartment wasn’t large, but that was to be expected with the neighborhood and the price tag. There was plenty of exposed brick, decent light coming in from the two windows at the far end of the living room. The kitchen was narrow enough to have been claustrophobic if walled in, but they’d kept it open, the addition of an island making the space totally workable.

“Check it out, Buck,” Clint called, gesturing to a staircase while wearing a little kid kind of grin. Whoever had remodeled had taken advantage of the high ceilings, and opted to make the most of the space by putting in a loft. “How cool is this?”

And that was all it took, he didn’t need to see anything other than Clint’s smile to make up his mind. Bucky watched Clint take the stairs two at a time, heading up to explore the loft, knowing in his bones that this was the place for them. He could see it all in his head, clear as day, the two of them turning the apartment into a _home_ .

Some curtains, a couch and TV, a couple bookcases. Wasn’t hard to imagine Clint camped out at the kitchen island with a mug of coffee while Bucky puttered around the kitchen and made them breakfast, Lucky underfoot, hoping for scraps. Or Clint sprawled across the stairs while Bucky sucked his dick, too impatient to wait until they made it up to the bedroom. Easy to picture the two of them curled up together on the couch at the end of the day, Clint’s bow mounted on the wall above their heads. Hell, the room was long enough you could probably set up targets down one end and shoot off arrows from the other if you were so inclined.

“You’re lucky,” Hank said, interrupting Bucky’s thoughts. “Thought I had this place all rented, but the check for the security deposit bounced. I was about to relist the unit when Jayla called.”

“I was wonderin’ why it was still vacant. We’ve been in the Army since leaving high school, more or less,” Bucky said, “so we ain’t exactly got rental references, but I can promise you we’ll _never_ bounce a check.”

“Buck, you gotta come up here,” Clint shouted.

Hank smiled, and waved him off. “Go on, take your time, look around.”

Upstairs had plenty of room for a nice big bed, end tables, dressers. A door opened onto a tiny, halfway decent bathroom, and there was even a single, reasonably sized closet up there. Better still, there was a good line of sight down into the apartment below. It felt pleasantly open, yet defensible in a way his bedroom back at the house did not.

“Well?” Clint signed as he walked out of the bathroom.

“Told you I had a good feelin’ about the place.” Bucky glanced around, already thinking about furniture placement. Not that they owned any yet. “I like it,” he signed, “how ‘bout you?”

Clint snorted. “Duh, there’s a railing I can vault over, so the answer is obviously yes.”

“Maybe don’t mention your acrobatic tendencies to Hank, huh?” Bucky suggested.

“So, I _shouldn’t_ do a backflip down into the living room to ask for an application?” Clint gave Bucky’s ass a playful squeeze as he swept him into a hug. “You’re not being stupid and pretending to like it ‘cause I like it, are you?”

“Nope. It’s very much us, sweetheart. Let’s see if we can make this happen.”

Hank was waiting for them down in the kitchen, applications already spread out on the counter. “Hope I’m not being too presumptuous.”

“No, this place is great, man,” Clint said, snatching up the papers and looking them over, some of the wind going out of his sails as he read. “So—honesty time—neither of us have jobs yet. I’ve started getting my disability pay, but Bucky’s still going through the process. And, um, we don’t exactly have references from previous landlords, either.”

“But we have the money for the deposit, and then some,” Bucky chimed in, settling his hand against the small of Clint’s back, “and my folks would co-sign for us if that helps.”

Hank had a strange look in his eyes as he studied the two of them, and Bucky wondered if it was just dawning on the guy that they were a bit more than war buddies. “As long as you boys have first, last, and the security deposit, we’ll do just fine.”

“Really? Why?” Bucky blurted, following it with, “Ow,” when Clint elbowed him in the ribs. “What, it’s a valid question!”

“Well, I like the idea of helping out veterans, for a start,” Hank said, handing Clint a pen. “Good people from all different walks of life live here,” he added, giving them a meaningful look. “Everyone in the building watches out for each other, and something tells me the two of you would do the same for your neighbors.”

“Damn straight,” Clint and Bucky said in unison.

Hank laughed and fished out a second pen for Bucky. “Besides, you know Jayla, and over the last six years she’s referred all of my best tenants.”

“Thanks, man,” Bucky said, making sure Hank understood that he was being thanked for more than the pen.

Once everything was filled out and a check was written, they spent a couple minutes talking logistics with Hank, and then took one more stroll through the place, Clint snapping off photos so they could show the dads. Bucky hadn’t expected to feel so reluctant to leave, but consoled  himself with the fact that the next time they saw the place it’d be their home.

A good looking woman was waiting for them by the building's front door, and it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together, and come up with Jayla. “How’d we do, Hank?”

“Say hi to your new neighbors,” Hank answered, stopping to give her a kiss on the cheek. “How are Paul and Marcell?”

“Doing real good,” she answered. “Tell Mark I said hi.”

“Will do,” Hank agreed. He turned back around before saying his goodbyes, shaking Clint and Bucky’s hands again. “I’ll give a call when the lease is ready to be signed.”

“Thanks again, man.” Clint gave a wave, then spun on his heels and grinned. “Jayla, this is Bucky, Buck, this is Jayla.”

“Nice to meet ya.” For whatever reason, Bucky had assumed she would be at work, so he hadn’t been prepared to meet Clint’s friend. “Sorry, I look and probably smell like I slept in a dumpster.”

“We were celebrating Bucky’s birthday last night, so he’s all hungover and pathetic,” Clint felt the need to add.

“Hey, we’ve all been there, right?” Jayla said, shaking Bucky’s hand. “Nice to finally meet the guy Clint’s always going on about.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky grinned, enjoying the bit of pink that had made an appearance around Clint’s collar. “What sorta stuff has he been sayin’?”

Jayla smiled slyly. “About what you’d expect from someone crazy in love. Glad to hear you liked the apartment.”

“Thanks again for setting this up, Jay.” Clint gave her a hug, and Bucky had to fight down the possessive part of himself that didn’t like seeing anyone else with their arms around Clint. “Hank seems cool. We’re like the worst prospects ever on paper, but he’s letting that slide.”

“You could say he has a soft spot for same-sex couples,” Jayla said. “Back in the day, he and his partner Mark always had to rent two bedrooms, just to be on the safe side.”

Hank’s previous statement about “all different walks of life” made a lot more sense, and Bucky’s conviction over having found the right place only solidified.

“Pretty sure your stamp of approval is the real reason we’re in,” Bucky said. “I promise we won’t make you look bad.”

“See that you don’t. I have a reputation to maintain,” Jayla teased. Bucky snapped off a salute in response, which earned him a playful shove. “I’d ask if you want to get some lunch, but your man here looks like he’s dead on his feet, Clint.”

Bucky wanted to protest so that Clint could hang out with his friend, but mostly he wanted a shower, toast, some coffee, and to get back in bed. Preferably with Clint.

“Rain check. I’ll bring your boyfriend Lucky along next time.”

“Perfect. Let’s plan something for when you come sign the lease.”

Jayla smiled and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. There was something so endearing about the gesture and the all around vibe she gave off that Bucky could see why Clint took to her so quickly.

“Sounds good,” Clint said, zipping up his coat. “I’ll send a text.”

“Alright then. See you soon, neighbor. Nice meeting you, Bucky.”

“Nice meetin’ you, too,” Bucky said, flashing her his best smile. “I promise not to look like a reanimated corpse the next time you see me.”

They were halfway to the train station when Clint spun around, and let out a little _whoop_ of happiness. “It’s happening, Buck, can you believe it?”

“Maybe now the next time I tell you I got a good feelin’ you’ll believe me.” Clint shook his head, madcap smile firmly in place, and it took all of Bucky’s self-restraint to keep from dragging Clint into his arms, and kissing him senseless. “Gotta say, I’m way more excited than I thought I’d be. Figured we’d have to do a bit more hustlin’ before finding a place.”

“I know, right?”

Clint grabbed hold of Bucky’s hand, threading their fingers together and squeezing. It made Bucky’s heart do that flipping over thing it did whenever he remembered how fucking lucky he was to have Clint. They were done with long marches, desert heat, mortar fire, and IEDS, could walk down the street holding hands, and plan a whole future for themselves. How lucky could one guy be?

“You know, all those years, I hardly spent any of my pay?” Bucky said when they got to the station.

“Me neither. Not like we had families, or lived off base, or anything. Between us we don’t even own a car.”

Bucky nodded and lit a cigarette, blatantly ignored the No Smoking sign he was standing beneath. “I had no clue what I was saving it for at the time, but I think it was _this_ . Even before, I mean. Wishful fuckin’ thinking that if we ever retired, you might wanna get a place together or something. Couldn’t imagine not having you right there with me.”

Clint smiled, and it was beautiful, left Bucky feeling all optimistic where he’d only felt hopeless an hour before.

“Even if we were still too dumb to admit how much we wanted to bone each other, you would have been stuck with me.”

“Speakin’ of boning,” Bucky signed, waggling his eyebrows. “I hope you realize I’m gonna fuck you on that staircase.”

“Not if I fuck you first,” Clint countered, and Bucky’s dick twitched in his pants. “I like this whole Things Working Out streak we’ve got going.”

“Me too, baby.”

Bucky tossed his cigarette onto the tracks as their train approached, and pressed a kiss to Clint’s cheek. It was less crowded this time, so they were able to sit side by side, bodies swaying together from the movement of the train. The anxiety and misery that had been crawling around under Bucky’s skin earlier in the day felt very far away. The world was him, and Clint, and a bright and shiny future.

“Hey,” Bucky summoned his very best serious expression, and nudged Clint in the ribs. Once he was sure he had Clint’s attention, he mouthed, “You still owe me ten dollars, asshole.”

Clint’s laughter echoed through the train, and Bucky felt himself falling in love all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hangovers suck, am I right? "Kinda romantic in a dumb ass way" is 100% the theme of their life.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My head keeps spinnin'  
> I go to sleep and keep grinnin'  
> If this is just the beginnin'  
> My life is gonna be beautiful...

Clint let his eyes lose focus as he watched the laundry go round and round in the dryer, a churning mishmash of military drab and the odd brightly colored t-shirt. It was that or the Korean drama playing on a tiny TV mounted in one corner of the laundromat, and he could tell the female lead was going to have her heart broken by the flashy dude she was dating, so the washing machine won out. Clint was feeling too good about life to find any entertainment value in watching someone’s happiness fizzle out and die, even if it was imaginary.

_Should’ve brought a sketchbook with you, dummy._

Drawing was something he'd never thought himself particularly good at until Natasha caught him doodling one afternoon and made a fuss. She and Steve were way better, but Clint had taken the encouragement to heart and stuck with it over the years. His older stuff was all over the place—not to mention occasionally cringe worthy—but keeping at it led to establishing a pretty cool style all of his very own.

Natasha offering to teach him and Steve how to tattoo was the biggest motivating factor for Clint, which wasn’t _too_ surprising. Tattooing meant getting up close and personal with a half-naked Bucky and leaving a part of himself behind. Very head trippy, and also the most physically intimate act Clint ever expected to share with Bucky.

Clint hadn't felt like doing much of anything while waiting for Bucky to come home, especially not drawing. Steve and Tasha could channel their dark moods into inspiration, but Clint had never been able to get the creative juices flowing if he was in a funk. He’d only wind up sitting there with an empty sheet of paper, growing more annoyed with himself by the minute. Things felt more settled now, and Clint had a good reason to get back in the habit; Bucky was looking to make up for the tattoos he'd lost. Besides, despite every awful ugly thing that had happened along the way, Clint had never been happier.

Good things about living with Bucky: _everything_.

It wasn't even an exaggeration. Clint couldn’t think of a single aspect of living with Bucky that didn’t make him happy, which wasn’t normal, according to the rest of the world. His therapist and Parker and even Jayla had warned him that there would probably be a transition period where things were awkward. That would have been the case with anyone else, but not with _Bucky_.

Whenever possible they’d always opted for a double occupancy in the barracks, so the idea of an adjustment period was sort of adorable. They’d been pooling their resources for years, knew how to live in close quarters with each other, were already used to sharing responsibilities, and recognizing when one or the other needed a little alone time. If anything, his living situation was a thousand times _less_ stressful now that they were actually fucking—goodbye unresolved sexual tension!

Still, for reasons Clint couldn’t wrap his head around, his therapist acted like he was naive for dismissing her concerns over his high expectations for life with Bucky. The reality check was unnecessary. It wasn’t as if Clint thought Bucky was _perfect_ or something. One of the reasons they were such good friends was because Bucky’s imperfections balanced out Clint’s own. And who the fuck wanted some perfect person anyway? That just sounded annoying.

Clint didn’t expect his or Bucky’s problems to magically resolve. They needed to adjust to Life After the Army, and the ways in which their bodies had changed, _and_ had eight big helpings of grief and trauma to work through, but that was life. It was all a hell of a lot easier when you weren’t doing it alone. Bucky had been there for every hairy moment of Clint’s military career and vice versa. Probably it all sucked real hard if your significant other didn’t have the same context, or was super well adjusted by comparison. Having those shared experiences was a lifesaver.

Like, when Bucky lost his shit over them running out of milk, Clint knew he was _actually_ stressed about having to go to a store to get more. That meant he was in a position to defuse rather than escalate the situation, and took it in stride when Bucky chucked the empty milk carton at the wall. For his part, Bucky knew how to handle it when Clint’s frustration over learning sign language got the best of him, and he went all noncommunicative. Bucky was probably the only person who could correct and encourage Clint without it sending him spiraling into a funk.

The point was, they accepted each other at face value, cut each other slack when it was necessary, and held each other accountable for all the important stuff. As far as Clint was concerned they were fucking kicking ass at cohabitation _and_ being boyfriends.

_You’ve only been living together a week, jackass, don’t get cocky._

Clint caught movement out of the corner of his eye, his heart giving that familiar tug of love and longing when he spotted Bucky standing over at the front counter. Even from a distance Clint could tell he was laying on the charm with Mrs. Pak to keep her from giving him shit over bringing Lucky into the laundromat. It was working, too, the older woman laughing and swatting at Bucky’s shoulder.

He had a love hate relationship with Bucky’s charisma, mostly because back in the day the sly smiles and bedroom eyes resulted in Bucky leaving Clint behind so he could sweat up the sheets with someone. Despite everything, it still made no sense to Clint that _he_ was the reason Bucky had opted for years of celibacy instead of continuing his trend of seducing equally charming and criminally attractive people. Clint considered himself a decent enough looking guy, but Bucky was in a different league altogether. He was the kind of good looking that you always _thought_ you had a handle on, right up until it caught you off guard, and you were left to come to terms with it all over again. Sure, Clint was in love and biased and shit, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t the truth.

The crazy thing was, Bucky looked at _him_ the way other people looked at _Bucky_. It made no damn sense, but it wasn't like Clint was going to argue the point. Hells no, if life dropped that kind of gift in your lap, you didn't question it, you said thank you and counted yourself lucky.

_Speaking of..._

Lucky padded over and presented himself for petting, so Clint obliged, continuing to admire Bucky from a distance, not bothering to hide his mooning.

“What's that smile all about?” Bucky asked when he finally joined them.

“Like you don't know.”

Buckys tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, eyes flashing. “Oh, I know all about it, soldier.” Cheesy or not, Clint's pulse still kicked into overdrive. “How we doing on time?”

“Why, got plans or something?”

“Yeah,” Bucky signed, a smirk firmly in place. “You, me, Natasha's gift basket, and checking numbers seventeen and nine off of your filthy to-do list.”

Clint grabbed Bucky by the back of the neck and dragged him into a kiss, glad they were the only customers in the laundromat. Bucky kissed back enthusiastically, teeth working at Clint’s lower lip with an undercurrent of urgency.

“C’mon, let's go,” Clint said, coming up for air.

Bucky laughed and grabbed Clint’s sleeve to keep him from running out of the place. “We takin’ our clothes with us, or what?”

“We can buy new clothes,” Clint suggested, watching as Bucky yanked open the dryer. “ _After_.”

Since it was obvious Bucky wasn’t down with Clint’s plan, he grabbed the laundry bag and held it open so Bucky could fill it with their mostly dry clothing. The corner of Bucky’s mouth was twitching, fighting back a smile, which probably meant he could feel the way Clint was watching him. Or maybe he’d noticed the fidgeting.

Bucky turned and shook his head. “I hope you know that makes you look like you’re about to piss your pants.”

“That’s not what’s happening in my pants,” Clint countered. One look in Bucky’s eyes and anyone would have been able to tell he was thinking about sex. “What’d you expect? Coming in here, dropping numbers like that. Hurry up.”

“You’re so bossy,” Bucky said, but he picked up the pace.

They said their goodbyes to Mrs. Pak and headed out. Bucky slung the laundry over his shoulder while Clint took charge of Lucky, their brisk pace only increasing the closer they got to home. Before Clint realized what they were doing, the two were racing each other, Lucky running alongside, the three of them all but colliding once they reached the front door.

“Dumb ass,” Clint huffed.

It took him a minute to get the door unlocked, thanks to Bucky hip-checking him repeatedly, but eventually they were in the building, up the three flights of stairs, and behind a closed door. Clint undid Lucky’s leash and flicked on the lights while Bucky let the laundry bag slide to the floor. Three long strides and Bucky was on him, fingers cold where they curled around Clint’s neck. By contrast, his mouth was hot, and insistent, Bucky’s tongue teasing against Clint’s own before darting away.

_Stupid perfect mouth._

Clint grabbed a handful of Bucky’s hair, kissed back for a minute, then pried their mouths apart again. “So, you said nine. You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Been thinkin’ about it all day,” Bucky said, taking one step backwards, and then another. “Nah, that’s a lie. _Years_ is how long I’ve been thinkin’ about taking your cock.”

“Jesus, Buck,” Clint groaned, dick perking up with interest. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to you saying shit like that to me.”

The smile this got him was something else. “Not sure what else I’m supposed to be thinkin’ about after the other morning.”

Seemingly all of Clint’s blood had been rerouted to his dick. The morning in question they’d gotten into an argument over waffles, which had somehow ended with Bucky naked and splayed across the stairs leading up to their bedroom. Clint had remained a few steps below, fingers busy in Bucky’s ass while he alternated between stroking Bucky’s cock, sucking it, or playing with his balls. By the end, Bucky had been holding onto the railing for dear life, head thrown back and ass not even resting on the stairs anymore while he rode Clint’s fingers best he could.

Bucky had surprised them both by coming just like that, his hand nowhere near his dick. Clint had watched in amazement before his brain finally caught up with what was happening and he thought to stroke Bucky through his orgasm. As soon as Bucky had his wits about him again, he’d turned the tables, getting Clint off with great enthusiasm before dragging him back to bed for a nap.

“Seeing you like that was hot as hell,” Clint said.

“Pretty sure it’s gonna be even hotter with your dick inside me.” Bucky worked himself out of his coat without breaking eye contact, letting it fall to the floor. “Would’ve tried for it this afternoon, but I wanted to do some prep first.”

It felt a little like Clint’s heart was trying to escape his body, it was beating so fast. While some part of him recognized they’d been working up to this since the first teasing stroke of his fingertips between Bucky’s asscheeks, another part of Clint was still occupying Disbelief Land. He’d sort of expected Bucky would want to start tipping the scales in the other direction, even things out a bit until they reached some standoff requiring a coin toss to determine who did what first.

Apparently the coin toss had already happened and Clint had missed it, too distracted by how much fun it was making Bucky fall to pieces in bed. “Aw, you prepped for me?”

The way Bucky looked with his face all flushed should have been illegal. “Best I could,” he said, still walking backwards toward the staircase. Bucky tossed his shirt in the direction of the kitchen island. “Figured you’d find a way to show me you appreciate the extra effort.”

“Seem to recall you mentioning seventeen.” Clint chewed on his lower lip, watching as Bucky’s nostrils flared in response to the number. “Seriously, Buck, you have no idea how wild it is seeing you get all worked up over sex with _me_.”

Bucky stumbled to a halt, then rushed forward so as to kiss Clint all swift and eager. “Clint,” Bucky said, pausing to kiss him again, “ _sweetheart_.” Another kiss, Bucky’s tongue writhing against his own. “I been worked up over you for ages. It was better with you even when it was still only me and my hand. Now that I know how amazin’ you are in bed, you’re lucky I even let you get dressed.”

“Shut up,” Clint said, not really meaning it.

“You _gotta_ know how sexy you are.” Bucky’s eyes were narrowed, as if he was trying to peer directly into Clint’s brain for confirmation. “ _Clint_.”

“Hey, no, it’s cool,” Clint said, unable to keep a smile off of his face. “If my drop dead gorgeous bestie boyfriend thinks I’m sexy, I’m not about to argue with him. I’m not that kind of crazy.”

Bucky opened his mouth as if to keep arguing the point, so Clint shut him up with another kiss. Whether or not it was subjectively true didn’t matter so much, because Clint always _felt_ sexy when they were together. Considering the way Bucky looked at him and responded to Clint’s touch, feeling otherwise wasn’t an option. As if to prove the point, Bucky exhaled in a hot rush against Clint’s mouth, eyes going all half mast as he started grinding against Clint.

_Dear Powers That Be, Thank you for giving Bucky an epiphany. I hereby promise to dedicate the rest of my life to keeping him well sexed and loved more than anything in an attempt to make up for the shitty circumstances that led to me winning the boyfriend lottery. Love, Clint._

Soft, perfect lips were pulled away from Clint’s own. “You’re thinkin’ too loud,” Bucky said before diving back in again.

Bucky kissed like it was his calling in life, which wasn’t too surprising. One look at Bucky's mouth and you couldn’t help but wonder what his sly smile would feel like against your lips. Fantastic, turned out. Tender and soft one minute, wicked the next. Teasing sometimes, too. Closer he got to orgasm, the wilder Bucky’s kisses became, until he was sucking on your tongue, or biting into your lower lip.

All of it drove Clint nuts, especially what was happening at the moment. Bucky gripped him by the back of his neck, was holding on tight as he licked his way into Clint’s mouth over and over again.

“Mm, this is exactly what I’m gonna do to your ass,” Clint said. He couldn’t hear Bucky’s answering moan, but felt it surge through his body. “Dude, you are _so_ getting it tonight.”

Bucky shook with laughter this time, forehead resting against Clint’s for a moment. “That’s the plan, anyway. Wanna head upstairs?”

Clint grabbed hold of Bucky’s ass, then marched them toward the stairs, kissing Bucky until they reached their destination. Bucky twisted out of his grip and took the steps two at a time, while Clint followed and admired the view.

By the time he was upstairs, Bucky had turned on the bedside lamps and was waiting for him with a smug smile. Clint opened his mouth to ask what was up only to close it again when he spotted a couple of items from Natasha’s gift basket already spread out across their bed.

As much as they’d appreciated the furniture Bucky’s dads had bought them and the generous gift cards the Parkers had given them, they’d had the most fun with Natasha’s gift. She’d made them promise not to open it until they were alone, which was really good advice considering the box was loaded with a variety of lubes, condoms, a set of increasingly large plugs, and something that had Clint confused right up until Bucky explained it was for shooting lube up your butt.

“Huh. It’s almost like you _knew_ I’d say yes.”

“Psychic powers,” Bucky said, biting down into his lower lip as he smirked. “They manifested after the accident.”

Clint kicked off his shoes while trying to take off his shirt and coat at the same time without unzipping anything. It was a struggle, but he managed to squirm his way free, much to Bucky’s apparent amusement. “Shut up, my stripping technique is the stuff of legends.”

Bucky was still laughing when Clint got hold of him again, those pretty eyes of his flashing. More kissing—there could never be enough—while Clint’s hands roamed across Bucky’s bared skin, thumbs and fingers and palms dragging back and forth. Bucky’s skin was hot and silky smooth, hard, lean muscle rippling beneath the surface. Clint never tired of touching him, exploring, mapping out little erogenous zones along the way.

Winding his arms around Bucky possessively and cradling his ass for purchase, Clint lifted Bucky off his feet for a moment, enjoying the drag and friction on the way back down. This prompted Bucky to take charge of the kiss, fingers sliding into Clint’s hair for purchase, eyes hungry and wild.

Something was murmured into his mouth, but it must not have been too important, because Bucky wasn’t letting up on the kissing in order to repeat himself. Clint stared into his eyes and tried to project all the dirty, wonderful thoughts running through his head, drunk on the feeling of Bucky’s skin against his own.

While Bucky was distracted, Clint marched them over to the closet, then extracted himself from the embrace long enough to yank the door open.

“What’re you—”

“Thought you were psychic,” Clint interrupted.

After taking a moment to unbutton and unzip his jeans, Clint worked his prick out of his pants, sparing a moment to laugh at himself. He hadn’t been going commando in anticipation of getting lucky, like some sort of smooth operator; he’d just run out of clean underpants, hence the trip to the laundromat.

Clint repositioned Bucky until he was facing the mirror they’d mounted on the back of their closet door, then snuggled up behind him, smiling and giving Bucky a wave. For a second, Bucky looked like he might object, but then Clint started licking and sucking on his neck, dragging his mouth along the curve of Bucky’s jaw and up to his earlobe. The move had the desired effect, Bucky relaxing back against him, head tilting to the side to give Clint more room to work.

“This way I can grind against your ass _and_ grope you, but still see your lips.”

Bucky opened his mouth to reply, but the words were never formed, derailed by the slide of Clint’s hands across his pectorals, fingertips grazing Bucky’s nipples before tweaking them. The body in Clint’s arms arched into the touch, ass pushing back against Clint’s dick while Bucky’s chest surged forward to meet his fingers. Bucky’s head tipped back to rest against Clint’s shoulder, making it even easier to suck at the curve of his neck, breathing him in while marking him with a lovebite.

“You already got me so hard, Buck.”

As if to prove his point, Clint slid one of his hands lower, stopping as his fingers brushed against the waistband of Bucky’s pants. He held fast, hand splayed across Bucky’s abdomen while twisting and tugging at one of Bucky’s nipples. When Bucky’s body arched this time, Clint held on tight, grinding his cock against the perfect curve of Bucky’s ass while watching in the mirror.

Clint’s own nipples were sensitive, but not in an erotic way. When Bucky tried to play with them it tickled more than anything else. Bucky hadn’t given up at first, tried licking and sucking and pinching them until Clint finally asked him to abandon all nipple hope. The cool thing was, it led to a _very_ informative conversation. Turned out the reason why Bucky had been so determined to play with Clint’s nipples was because his own were the _good_ kind of sensitive. Clint was more than happy to oblige. In fact, watching Bucky squirm and pant and dribble precome all over himself because of nipple play was officially one of Clint’s favorite pastimes.

With that in mind, Clint went to work, stroking along Bucky’s flanks, not shying away from any scar tissue, because every last bit of Bucky was beautiful and deserving of worship. Bucky squirmed and wriggled in his arms, his breathing accelerated and skin flushed, trying to shift so as to get Clint’s roaming fingers where he wanted them. Clint teased around and around, skating away, waiting to feel Bucky’s huff of irritation before giving him what he wanted.

Since his head was tipped back a bit, Clint couldn’t make out what Bucky said, but assumed it was encouraging, so he kept at it, brushing his thumbs back and forth across Bucky’s nipples, teasing them into stiff peaks. Bucky reached around to grab Clint’s ass and held on tight, keeping their bodies flush while Clint toyed with his nipples.

After the incident and the prolonged stay in the hospital, Bucky had lost some of his muscle mass, but he wasn’t exactly sporting much bodyfat, either, which meant the muscles he still had were showcased beautifully. Clint watched them ripple and contract in response to all the attention being lavished upon him.

“I bet I could make you come just from this,” Clint whispered, tugging on Bucky’s earlobe with his teeth while pinching his nipples. “Get you all naked and slicked up, sit you on my lap, and then play with ‘em until you go off like the Fourth of July.”

Bucky’s answering moan vibrated through Clint’s body. In the mirror, he watched Bucky’s head tip forward, eyes fluttering open and widening a moment later at the sight of the two of them writhing against each other. Clint watched the bob of his Adam’s apple as Bucky swallowed, lips seeming to form the word _fuck_ before he twisted his head around, grabbed a fistful of Clint’s hair, and dragged their mouths together for a kiss.

That wild, hungry look was back in Bucky’s eyes as they kissed all sloppy and urgent, the scratch and burn of his beard growth a wonderful contrast to the suppleness of his skin. Clint ran his hands over Bucky again and again, stroking along his sides, across his stomach, up his chest to toy with his nipples, and then back down again to tease near the bulge in his pants.

Bucky broke free of the kiss and turned to face the mirror again, watching Clint watching him. “Touch my dick,” he said, and there was no mistaking it for anything but an order.

Clint tossed Bucky a little salute before sliding both hands along Bucky’s sides and down to his hips. Bucky’s eyes were dark and serious as he watched, maybe lingering a bit too long on his own scars, and the spot where his arm used to be, so obviously more distraction was necessary. Clint gave him a hug, sucked and kissed on his neck as he squeezed and stroked Bucky’s cock through his pants.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Bucky said, eyes going wide. Clint groped him as best he could before getting fed up with having denim in the way. “Yeah, pull it out and play with it, baby.”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Clint asked, biting down on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Takin’ too lo _—oh_ , fuck, _Clint_!”

While Bucky had been wasting time complaining, Clint had undone Bucky’s pants and shoved them and the boxers underneath out of the way, leaving everything wedged around Bucky’s knees for the moment. He was too focused on nestling his dick against the curve of Bucky’s bared ass, and grabbing hold of the man’s cock to do much more.

“Was that a complaint?” Clint kissed along Bucky’s jaw and up to his ear, head tilted so he could see them in the mirror. Bucky’s dick was dark with arousal, the contrast to the paleness of Clint’s hand somehow obscene.

“Never.” Bucky rolled his body, pushing into Clint’s fist, ass rubbing against Clint’s hardon. “Not a single complaint, darlin’.”

_How the hell did I get so lucky?_

After rubbing against his jeans for so long, Bucky’s ass felt like silk against Clint’s cock, his skin warm and perfect and irresistible. Clint thrust into the contact, panting against Bucky’s throat while staring into the mirror. Bucky’s dick was hot and heavy in his hand, the muscles of his abdomen undulating as he pushed himself into Clint’s fist.

“Love the way you touch me,” Bucky signed into the mirror.

Clint let go of Bucky’s cock for a moment so as to hold him tight, trying to get his hands everywhere at once, a sense of urgency building beneath his skin. “Could touch you all day,” Clint moaned, licking a wet trail up to Bucky’s ear. “All day every day, for the rest of my life.”

“Good plan.”

Bucky reached back to wrap his hand around Clint’s dick, tugging once, twice, before bringing his hand back around to rest atop one of Clint’s own, pushing it lower. For a moment, they worked Bucky’s cock together, eyes locking again and again in the mirror. The surreality of it all was making itself known to Clint, leaving him feeling giddy and stupid with love.

“Gonna make it _real_ good for you, Buck.”

Clint had a moment to appreciate the reflection of Bucky’s madcap smile before he was turning in Clint’s arms, and kissing him proper, their dicks rubbing together in a very appealing way. Deep, demanding, _hungry_ kisses left Clint feeling light headed, so he figured the best course of action was to grind against Bucky while stroking all the parts of him he’d missed before. Sweeping passes up between his shoulder blades and down to the small of his back, lower still to trace the swell of Bucky’s perfect ass.

Bucky struggled against him, kissing and biting at Clint’s neck and shoulder, the beard growth dragging roughly against Clint’s skin. Over Bucky’s shoulder, Clint watched the movement of his own hands as they mapped Bucky’s body, holding his breath while cradling Bucky’s ass, pulling his cheeks apart to get a glimpse before sneaking the tip of his middle finger in there.

The body in his arms vibrated, Bucky’s tongue pushing eagerly into Clint’s mouth, teasing, thrusting, and so Clint took the clue, began matching the movements with his finger, pushing deeper inside of Bucky’s body. This was obviously the correct course of action. Bucky reached between them to play with Clint’s dick again, the feeling of his noises of pleasure reverberating through both of their bodies now.

“Lemme suck it first,” Bucky said, making sure Clint could see his lips moving. “Get you all wet before you stick it in me.”

“Uh, yeah, okay, that—oh, fuck yeah!”

Bucky hadn't wasted any time. As soon as he got the go ahead from Clint, he was on his knees, sucking Clint into his mouth with the sort of enthusiasm that made it easy for Clint to believe Bucky’s claims about how sexy he was.

“Hold on, let’s, _oh_ , shit, turn, turn a bit,” Clint panted, having trouble vocalizing what with all the wet hot action happening. “You _gotta_ see how fuckin’ good you look, Buck.”

When he gazed upward, Bucky appeared almost dazed, but he played along while Clint shuffled to the side, and nodded his head toward the mirror. “Check it out.”

Clint held his breath, watching Bucky drink in the sight of the two of them. Bucky had Clint’s cock in his hand, fingers tight around the base, his own dick sticking out stiffly in front of him as he knelt on the floor. Clint stroked Bucky’s hair, his cheek, and it was weird, but Bucky looked almost confused for a moment, like he didn’t recognize himself. Then he turned to look up at Clint again, and the wild smile was back.

“Always figured you’d be big on watchin’,” Bucky said, licking his lips.

“With the way you look, can you blame me?”

Bucky shook his head, his smile somewhat shy as he began to stroke Clint’s cock all slow and purposeful, licking his lips as he watched the slide of foreskin over Clint’s cockhead. Bucky murmured something about, “So much fun,” before dragging his lips across the exposed and extremely sensitive head. Clint had to adjust his stance quickly, feeling like his legs might go out on him if he wasn’t careful, lost to the unparalleled sensation of Bucky’s enthusiasm.

Clint couldn’t decide if he wanted to look straight down, or watch in the mirror, because each view was hot in a different way, added to the jolts of pleasure running riot through his body. Fingers teased at his balls, caressing them as Bucky dragged his lips along the length of Clint, sucking and licking before ultimately slurping him down.

“Yeah, look at you go, Buck. You’re— _shit_ —so… oh fuck, look so pretty suckin’ me off.”

Bucky’s face was flushed, his head tilted and eyes on his own reflection as he sucked hungrily at Clint’s cock, lips and tongue teasing at Clint’s foreskin over and over again. It looked almost as spectacular as it felt. Then Bucky managed to take _all_ _of him_ , mouth stretched wide and obscene as he swallowed Clint down, nose brushing against Clint’s pubes.

Babbling definitely happened, and a lot of it, Clint having to look away for a second so he didn’t lose control altogether. When Bucky pulled off to breathe, a sticky string of saliva and precome came with him, and he looked almost drunk, mumbling something to himself while letting go of Clint’s prick.

A second later, Bucky was stroking his own dick furiously, making eye contact in the mirror as he picked up where he’d left off. His mouth was an exquisite inferno, lips soft and swollen from all the kissing and sucking. Clint struggled to breathe, moaning as he watched Bucky put those lips to good use, tugging gently at his foreskin each time Bucky pulled his mouth off of Clint’s dick before wrapping around him all over again, Bucky’s head bobbing and his cheeks hollowed as he slurped away.

Unable to help himself, Clint slid his fingers into Bucky’s hair, started guiding his movements, heart hammering against his ribs. Bucky moaned around his dick—Clint could feel it—his eyes at half mast as he watched them in the mirror. Bucky was playing with his own nipples now, tweaking one and then the other, his cock bobbing up and down in front of him while Clint fucked his mouth.

_And another jerkoff fantasy comes to life!_

“Ever think about this?” Clint asked, groaning in happy disbelief when Bucky nodded, and switched back to jerking himself off, his face bright red now. “ _Fuck_ , Buck, I gotta get you on the bed before I come down your throat.”

There was an awkward and awesome moment where they collided with each other, thanks to Bucky forgetting he still had his pants around his knees. It led to him laughing in Clint’s arms, which in turn led to Clint kissing the living hell out of Bucky while he tried to get out of his pants, the two of them struggling together before Clint decided it’d be easier to get naked if they weren’t kissing.

Frantic as hell, they got the last of their clothes out of the way. Clint had plans on carrying Bucky over to the bed, but instead found himself herded over that direction first, Bucky giving him a shove once his knees hit the edge of the mattress. He fell back with a laugh, which quickly turned into a moan when Bucky climbed on top of him.

“Do me a favor, baby, and grab the lube?”

Clint did as asked, grabbing one of the bottles out of the pile Bucky had set out before heading to the laundromat. “I’m digging the preparedness, Buck.”

“The Army taught me well,” Bucky said with a smirk. “Which is why Operation Fuck My Ass is gonna go off without a hitch.”

_I’m in love with a beautiful cornball._

While he giggled like an idiot, Clint watched Bucky try to push the hair out of his face only to have it flop back down again. “Getting shaggy, soldier.”

“That a problem for you?” Bucky tried to keep his expression nonchalant, but the idiot actually looked _concerned_.

“Please, you couldn’t be unattractive if you tried.” Clint pumped lube into Bucky’s outstretched hand, making him jump, as he’d apparently forgotten about his previous request. “It’s messy, but… I dunno. There’s something hot about it, maybe ‘cause I’ve never seen you with long hair before.”

Bucky grinned down at Clint, took his breath and all of his words away by wrapping his lube covered hand around both of their cocks. “Well then,” Bucky said, looking down for a moment to watch as he got their dicks all slick, “I’ll keep growin’ it out. You just let me know when you get sick of it, okay?”

That bit of business taken care of, Bucky leaned down and kissed Clint, bracing himself on his hand while beginning to grind. No longer concerned that they’d be overheard by Bucky’s family, Clint let himself moan, thrilling over the freedom that came with privacy. They were both slick, cocks rubbing together between their bodies as Bucky writhed, and that was just out of control awesome. Clint decided to up the ante by grabbing hold of Bucky’s ass, pulling his cheeks apart slightly while using his grip to try to fight for control over their rhythm.

“How do you feel so good?” Clint groaned, lunging for Bucky’s mouth.

The kiss went on for a blissful eternity, Bucky’s weight heavy atop him, perfect pressure and heat and friction. Clint tried to touch him everywhere, one hand sliding down over Bucky’s ass again and again, fingers dipping between his cheeks to tease his asshole while the other hand roamed freely.

_You’re gonna be inside him tonight!_

Maybe Bucky was having the same thought, because he struggled in Clint’s arms, pushing himself upright. Clint watched in awe as Bucky shuffled forward a bit, lowering himself once again only after nestling Clint’s dick between his ass cheeks. His entire body was flushed beautifully now, cock straining out in front of him as he slowly, gracefully undulated.

Getting with the program, Clint shifted, spreading his legs and raising his knees so that Bucky had to shift along with him. After some manhandling, Bucky hooked his heels behind Clint’s thighs for purchase, hand pressing into the mattress beside Clint’s head to hold himself upright. This time, when Bucky began to move, he was better able to rely on his thigh muscles for support, and Clint could reach around Bucky’s ass in order to hold his cock in place.

“Holy shit, that feels good,” Bucky said, making sure Clint could see his lips. “Oh, yeah, rub against me, just like that, baby.”

Clint was happy to oblige. He rocked his hips and pressed his cock as flush to Bucky as possible, dragging the length of himself across Bucky’s hole again and again, getting more desperate at each pass. At the same time, Bucky’s prick was rubbing against Clint’s stomach, sliding easily thanks to the lube, and so they did that for a while, driving each other crazy.

“Can’t wait,” Bucky said, eyes fluttering closed, expression one of bliss.

Bucky’s arm trembled, so Clint pulled him down onto his chest, taking all of his weight, kissing Bucky deep, and slow, and purposeful. When it started getting hard to breathe, Clint rolled them so that Bucky was on his back, sprawled across the bed, looking dazed, and hard, and tasty as fuck.

_He already said he was down, might as well go for seventeen._

Mind made up, Clint snagged a pillow, tucked it beneath Bucky’s head, then pushed his legs apart, squirming around until one of Bucky’s legs was hooked over his shoulder. A moment of appreciation was in order, and so Clint drank in the visuals. The splay of his muscular thighs, the way he looked spread out across their bed. Un _fucking_ believable.

“Yank on my hair or punch the top of my head or something if you want me to stop,” Clint said before taking the plunge.

Bucky’s entire body arched up off the bed at the first sweep of Clint’s tongue against his asshole, which was really good for Clint’s ego. Like, the ego was soaring, no doubt about it. Bucky had his hand on his dick, was tugging frantically, craning his neck in an attempt to watch what Clint was doing.

Clint could feel Bucky vibrating beneath him, body shaking with pleasure as he struggled to breathe. “Mmm, you taste sort of… like concentrated you,” Clint mumbled, giving another experimental lick.

It wasn’t anything like going down on a woman, except that a lot of his technique seemed to still apply. Clint hummed happily to himself while flicking his tongue against Bucky’s asshole, pulling back to watch in fascination as the ring of muscle fluttered and clenched down on nothing. Curious, Clint propped himself up enough to get a look at Bucky’s face.

“You got no idea how good that feels,” Bucky mouthed. He let go of his dick, opting to hold onto the back of his own thigh, spreading himself wider for Clint. “Can’t wait to return the favor.”

Clint grinned at the thought of it, rubbing the pad of his thumb across Bucky’s asshole, pressing down for a moment before shifting to tease over his perineum. This had the desired effect, Bucky’s mouth opening in a moan, head flopping back against the pillow again.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

Unable to help himself, Clint sucked Bucky’s big cock into his mouth, taking him nice and deep, fighting against the urge to gag until he had to come up for air. He tasted like the lube, which wasn’t bad, exactly; Clint just preferred the taste of Bucky. And so he kissed and sucked and licked his way lower, pausing to lap at Bucky’s balls for a minute before returning to the business at hand.

There was something primal about the whole affair that really appealed to Clint’s inner pervert. Maybe because he knew no one else had done this for Bucky? Whatever, it didn’t matter so much why, just that it was hot as hell. His cock was pounding in time with his pulse, sandwiched between his body and the bed, so Clint went ahead and rubbed himself against their sheets while flicking his tongue against Bucky’s asshole.

Whenever Bucky’s heel dug into his back, Clint knew he was onto something particularly enjoyable, and so he’d do it again and again. Sucking kisses, long laps with his tongue, dragging his lips and tongue and even chin up from Bucky’s ass to his balls. As he worked, Bucky began to loosen up, so that before too long, Clint was able to slide his tongue deeper into Bucky, chasing down that elusive taste.

He lost himself to the act, mesmerized by the feeling of Bucky trembling beneath his tongue. Tiny, persistent flicks, followed by more aggressive lapping. Pulling back to breathe against Bucky’s damp skin, watching the way the ring of muscle responded. Swirling the tip of his tongue around Bucky’s hole again and again, Clint followed up by thrusting it inside of Bucky’s body as best he could, fluttering and sucking and mouthing at him hungrily. Clint’s entire body felt like it was on fire, his own dick throbbing with urgency as he hummed against Bucky’s hole, and fucked him with his tongue for long, breathless moments.

The next time he propped himself up to see how Bucky was doing, Clint’s breath was taken away all over again. Bucky looked beyond blissed out, was holding onto a handful of their sheets as if scared to let go, flushed everywhere. There was a light sheen of sweat on his skin, which made each and every muscle seem that much more defined, and perfect. When they finally fluttered open, his eyes seemed to have trouble focusing, teeth biting down into his lower lip.

“Doing okay? I can stop if you want.”

Bucky blinked a couple times, then stared at him like he was insane. “Clinton Francis Barton, _do_ _not_ make me smack the shit outta you.”

Clint grinned, licked his lips, and slipped his thumb into Bucky’s ass, only mildly surprised to find how little resistance he met. Bucky arched off the bed, cock bobbing, and now Clint could see the little puddle of precome Bucky had left on his stomach.

“Mm, I think somebody likes that.”

“Yeah, I like it, you dumba— _ah_!” Clint had replaced his thumb with a slippery finger, which he was now using to rub against Bucky’s prostate. “ _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ , don’t stop...”

Clint was onboard with that request. Stopping sounded like the worst idea ever. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he shifted, working his finger back and forth, pulling out and pushing back inside of Bucky, each time aiming for that spot, teasing with pressure before slipping back out again. Bucky was all slick with saliva, trembling and shaking and watching Clint like he was performing miracles or something.

“More, baby, gimme more,” Bucky said as soon as Clint was looking his way again.

This time, he slipped his thumb back inside, curled and pushed against that inner ring of muscle, watching in fascination as Bucky’s dick jumped in response. Clint wasn’t sure how he was going to manage to keep from orgasiming the second he finally got his cock inside of Bucky, because it already felt like sensory overload.

_Please last longer than two minutes._

Clint let go of Bucky so he could grab the lube. “Two this time?” Bucky nodded, pulled his knees up, letting go of the sheets to hold onto the back of his thigh again. “Tap my arm if it’s too much.”

With this said, Clint slipped two fingers into Bucky’s ass, easy as you please. Bucky’s expression was one of pure bliss.

“Kiss me?”

Heart tripping happily in his chest, Clint pulled his fingers free so he could position himself more comfortably between Bucky’s thighs. Smiling and feeling like the king of the world, Clint leaned down and began kissing Bucky, fingers pushing back inside of his ass a moment later.

And that was beyond awesome. Bucky held onto him tight, hand fisted in Clint’s hair, panting and moaning into Clint’s mouth as he continued to loosen him up. They kissed, and kissed, and it was hot as hell that Bucky didn’t care where Clint’s mouth had just been. Seemed more than content to hold on for dear life, sucking on Clint’s tongue while staring up at him all lovesick and happy.

They built a rhythm together until Clint’s dick was sliding against Bucky, fingers curled and working the man’s prostate, kissing and rocking and then Bucky dragged his mouth away, the look in his eyes crazy and intense.

“You gotta fuck me, sweetheart,” he said, nostrils flared. “Right now.”

“Are you sure you’re—” It looked like Bucky growled—maybe there were words, Clint had no way of knowing—then reached between their bodies to wrap his fingers around Clint’s cock.

“I’m serious, Clint,” Bucky said, twisting his wrist and making Clint see stars. “Now, I need you inside me right fuckin’ _now_.”

“Yeah, okay,” Clint agreed in a rush, pulling Bucky’s hand off of his dick before kissing him roughly. He had to fight to end what he’d started, Bucky’s teeth tugging on his lower lip, keeping the kiss going. “On your back at first okay?”

Bucky nodded, game face in full effect. He shifted around, made himself more comfortable, watching with interest as Clint snagged the lube injector. “ _And_ you already filled it up. Nice!”

“We already established that I’m prepared,” Bucky said, grinning like a goon. “Hey, if we manage to last longer than five minutes, I wanna ride you.”

Clint fumbled and dropped the lube injector, not surprised to see Bucky laughing at him when he looked up. “Shut up.”

“That mean you’re not interested?” Bucky winked and blew him a kiss.

“You know I am,” Clint countered, slipping the device into Bucky’s ass and squirting. Bucky made a face and wiggled around, but he was still smiling like a smug bastard. “It’s number ten on my list.”

“Thought it was eleven?”

Bucky watched him open the foil condom packet with an intensity that bordered on being predatory. Clint pretended not to notice as he rolled it over his dick. “Honestly, it’s a pretty fluid list. My priorities change from hour to hour.”

Taking a deep breath, Clint gazed into Bucky’s eyes like the lovesick sap he was, and tried to convince himself there was nothing to be nervous about. Still, it would have been nice to have his hearing back. He wanted to know right away if something he did felt awful, or awesome, wanted to memorize the sounds Bucky made while getting fucked.

_Maybe it’s time to stop being a weirdo and follow up on the hearing aids?_

Warm fingers tapped against Clint’s chest, getting his attention. “Don’t worry, I’ll signal just like any other mission,” Bucky said, giving Clint the all clear.

Stupid or not, it eased away the mounting tension, made Clint feel like he was back in familiar territory. “Roger that.”

And so he repositioned Bucky’s legs, spreading them wide, pushing his knees up toward his chest before taking himself in hand, and rubbing the head of his cock against Bucky. Clint bit down into his lower lip and gave it a go, moving slow, eyes darting back and forth while he tried to see everything at once. Where his dick was nudging at Bucky’s ass, the look on Bucky’s face as he began to push cautiously, so wrapped up in concern that it caught him completely off guard when he eased right past that tight ring of muscle.

Bucky’s mouth fell open, throat bobbing as he went almost limp beneath Clint, hand signaling frantically for Clint to keep advancing. Which…

_Holy shit, this is so happening!_

Clint wouldn’t have believed his eyes if, you know, he couldn’t also _feel_ himself sinking deeper into Bucky. “Oh my god, you’re so tight, this is _insane_ , Buck, my dick is in your ass!”

Bucky’s body shook with laughter, but his mouth was hanging open and his pupils were swallowing up all the color in his eyes. “Feels crazy on this end, too.”

“Good crazy?” Clint tried to get his breathing under control as he let go of his dick and grabbed hold of the backs of Bucky’s knees before pushing even deeper. “Because this is _crazy good_.”

Bucky nodded repeatedly, head tipping back again as he moaned. Fuck, and Clint could feel it from so many directions now, reverberating through Bucky’s body. It was one of the most amazing sensations, nothing at all like any sort of sex he’d ever had. Naturally, Clint couldn’t wait until Bucky did the same thing to him, so they could compare notes.

In no time at all, Clint found himself buried deep, his balls nestled against Bucky’s ass. Stupid and cheesy sounding or not, all he could think was that it felt like he’d finally found his way home after being away for a long, long time.

“Have I mentioned how much I love you?”

“Once or twice,” Bucky said, shifting a bit beneath him. “Love you, too.”

The kiss Bucky gave him sent shivers right down Clint’s spine, made his balls tingle, and his toes curl. It was lazy and possessive, and was accompanied by the rocking of Bucky’s hips as he adjusted to the stretch of Clint’s cock in his ass. Everything about him was beyond perfect in that moment, and left Clint’s head spinning.

They moved together, the kiss growing sloppy and more urgent, Bucky’s fingers tugging at his hair, teeth dragging across Clint’s lower lip, the look in his eyes encouraging Clint to begin fucking him in earnest. And somehow, despite the hot clutch of Bucky’s body, the movement was easy, and absolutely mindblowing.

Clint took a long, deep breath, lost himself to the sensation of sinking into Bucky, again and again, growing drunk on the rhythm. Bucky stretched beneath him, adjusting his legs and shifting his hips to make it easier for Clint to take hold of him, already anticipating the movement. It hit Clint hard in a way he wasn’t expecting. They’d done this sort of thing before—working together like they were one person—but under _very_ different circumstances.

“Sharing this is so much better than being shot at,” Clint blurted.

Bucky laughed, shaking both of them, and Clint moaned in appreciation. “Still got your back, though.”

“Yeah you do,” Clint agreed. “My front, too.” Carefully, precisely, he thrust into Bucky, aiming for that sweet spot, smiling as he watched pleasure cascade across Bucky’s face.

“So lame,” Bucky said, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by the way his lower lip was trembling.

“Lame, huh?”

Shifting upright, Clint grabbed hold of Bucky’s ankle and lifted one leg in the air, the other hand tucked behind Bucky’s opposite knee. The new position made it easy to build a steady piston-like movement, each thrust burying him deeper inside of Bucky.

“Holy… fuckin’ hell,” Bucky mouthed, the words coming sluggish, like he was having trouble stringing them together. That was already pretty amazing, but then Bucky more or less switched over to chanting Clint’s name nonstop while jerking himself off.

“Good?” Clint gasped, dragging his eyes away from where he was pounding into Bucky in order to watch his face.

Bucky’s teeth were biting down into his lower lip, eyelids fluttering as he nodded. “Real good,” he managed after a moment, head thrown back as Clint surged forward again. “Oh _fuck_ , right there, Clint, yeah, give it to me. Nice ‘n hard.”

Well, there wasn’t much to do with that order other than follow it enthusiastically. Clint adjusted his grip, wrapping his arm around Bucky’s leg to hold it flush to his chest before fucking into him hard, other hand splayed possessively over Bucky’s chest. This got him a wild look, a full body shudder, Bucky letting go of his dick to hold on to Clint’s thigh, trying to pull Clint deeper.

Adjusting again, Clint moved his hand until he was able to better feel the sounds vibrating through Bucky’s chest, and if that also happened to mean he was able to flick this thumb out across Bucky’s nipple again and again it was only a happy accident. This got him all sorts of rumbling in Bucky’s chest, the man’s mouth hanging open and his eyes all but rolled back in his sockets as he lost himself to pleasure.

Never ever in the history of ever had Clint felt so powerful, so trusted, so loved. Bucky’s hair was plastered to his head with sweat, his cock straining between their bodies, thick and hard and bobbing in time with Clint’s thrusts. He’d opened himself so completely, there was nothing keeping them apart any longer. It was all an easy, synchronous slide accompanied by the most exquisite tightness, Clint’s balls aching as he fucked Bucky into the mattress.

Clint let go of Bucky’s leg, braced himself on his elbows as he lowered himself down, down, pressing Bucky into the bed while sinking deep, overwhelmed by how amazing Bucky felt. Muscular thighs squeezed him tight, Bucky’s hand grabbing him roughly by the hair to drag him into a kiss.

Gasping, rocking, lips and teeth and tongue sliding as they kissed, Clint was unable to look away from Bucky’s eyes, lost to everything he was seeing. But he was only human, and Bucky was apparently made to have Clint’s dick inside of him, so it was all becoming a bit too much while also being not nearly enough.

“If you were serious about being on top,” Clint gasped, burying his face in the crook of Bucky’s shoulder while he slowed the movement of his hips, “sooner would be better than later. M’sorry, but you feel way too good for me to last much longer.”

Bucky bit him on the shoulder, then grabbed Clint’s chin to raise his head so he would be able to see the words. “Right there with you, darlin’,” he said, licking his lips. “Gettin’ close.”

Despite being short an arm, Bucky found a way to manhandle Clint with great efficiency. One minute he was bracketed by muscular thighs, sticking to Bucky everywhere they touched, nestled safe and sound inside of his body, and the next Clint was on his back, and blinking up at Bucky in surprise.

“Alrighty, then.”

As Clint watched, Bucky pushed his damp hair back away from his face and let his hand slide lower, down across his chest, pinching one of his nipples before moving lower still to stroke his cock once, twice. He was staring down at Clint like a conqueror surveying his domain, a very particular sort of intensity flickering behind his eyes.

“Mine,” Bucky signed, fingers curling into a fist as he followed the statement with the sign for love. He shifted around, rubbing himself against Clint for a wild moment before grabbing hold of Clint’s cock and giving him a squeeze. “Hold your dick still for me,” he ordered. “Gonna need my hand for balance.”

“Yessir.”

For some reason, Clint had expected a slow progression so that Bucky could readjust, but instead he sank down onto Clint’s dick like they’d been doing this for years, fingers digging into Clint’s shoulder where Bucky was holding on tight. A wild smile tore across Bucky’s handsome face in response to whatever embarrassing noises Clint was making.

“Di-didn’t think you could possibly feel _better_ ,” Clint said in a rush, hands clasping Bucky’s hips to hold him still. “Just a sec, lemme… fuck, oh _fuck_.”

Bucky squirmed a bit, adjusting the position of his knees, of his hand, abdomen rippling as he _squeezed_ around Clint’s cock, and that wasn’t even remotely fair. “Feels so fuckin’ good,” Bucky said, lowering himself gracefully so as to suck Clint’s lower lip into his mouth.

“You… yeah, good, that’s a word,” Clint agreed in a hot rush. He kissed Bucky somewhat urgently, dragging his hands down from Bucky’s hips and over his thighs only to sweep back up over his ass, then his lower back, arms winding around to hold him tight. “ _Buck_.”

Every last nerve ending in Clint’s body ached for contact with Bucky, right down to his hair follicles. It felt like he was drowning in sensation, but also like he’d lose his goddamned mind if he didn’t find some way to get _closer_. It led to Clint shifting to get leverage, heels digging into the mattress as he thrust upward, desperate to bury himself deeper. Bucky’s head snapped up, mouth hanging open in an O of pleasure as he pushed himself upright again, this time slamming his hips down hard to meet Clint’s upward momentum.

“Mm, relax for a minute, sugar.” Bucky shifted again, muscles standing out starkly as he took control of their rhythm. “Enjoy the ride.”

Clint did his best to follow orders, settling down with his hands on Bucky’s thighs, fighting against the impulse to thrust. And fuck if it wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever seen in his life! Because there Bucky was, naked and glistening, all hard muscle and harder cock, rolling his hips while clenching down on Clint’s dick. He moved with an enviable level of confidence, eyes locked with Clint’s own as he bounced.

“Oh my god, Buck.”

Unable to help himself, Clint reached out to stroke the side of Bucky’s face, down over his chest, clutching at his hip with the other hand, even as he tried to remain still. Bucky was obviously moaning, didn’t seem to object, and so Clint kept touching him, hands roaming everywhere. Before very long, Clint had his hands braced against Bucky’s chest and was thumbing his nipples, while also helping him stay upright.

“Clint, I swear, your dick is _perfect_.”

“Your _everything_ is perfect,” Clint said, that need to be closer winning out again. Despite the effort, Clint lifted himself up from the mattress, shifting Bucky along the way, reaching around so as to trace the spot where Bucky ended and he began. Seeing how it made Bucky quake, Clint repeated the motion. “If this winds up being a dream, I’m gonna be pissed.”

Bucky’s entire body jerked, hips slamming down hard in response to the new position he found himself in. He clutched at Clint, arm wrapping around his shoulders, losing some of that grace and rhythm at the wet swipe of Clint’s tongue across one of his nipples. After a frenzied moment, Clint flopped back onto the bed again, arms tight around Bucky, not letting go.

Foreheads pressed together, Bucky struggled for a moment, then found a comfortable position for his arm, one that would make it easy to kiss, easy for Clint to hold him close, easy for Clint to take over again. Feeling like he was coming apart at the seams, Clint did all of those things, tongue sweeping into Bucky’s mouth as he held on tight and fucked up into his ass.

“Yeah, like that,” Bucky gasped, eyes going wide. “ _Clint_.”

Above him, Bucky was shaking to pieces, his movements becoming more and more erratic, cock hard where it was sandwiched between their bodies. A quick glance confirmed that while sweat accounted for some of the slickness, the rest was all Bucky. The head of his cock was shiny and flushed dark as he dribbled onto Clint’s stomach.

“Holy shit, you’re gonna be able to come like this, aren’t you?”

Bucky nodded frantically, squirming in Clint’s arms. “Will if you gimme all you got, soldier.”

Clint grinned up at Bucky. “Sure about that?”

The glare Bucky sent his way would have been scary if Clint didn’t already know what Bucky _actually_ looked like when he was feeling murderous. Clint waited until Bucky opened his mouth to complain before shifting his grip to grab hold of Bucky’s ass. Holding him in place and keeping Bucky spread wide, Clint dug his heels into the mattress and gave him what he’d asked for.

Appropriately enough, Bucky bucked from the movement, chest heaving and body trembling atop Clint, his face flushed and beautiful. He was chanting, a steady stream of profanity intermingled with Clint’s name, and doing his best to make certain each thrust of Clint’s cock nailed his prostate.

Bucky’s eyes went wide, his expression some perfect combination of pleasure and pain. “Don’t stop, oh, _Clint_.”

Clint hadn’t stopped, had, in fact, picked up the pace to the extent that he could hardly breathe, and his thighs burned with the effort, but that didn’t matter as much as making Bucky come. The entire bed was shaking, the springiness of the mattress aiding in Clint’s efforts, so that soon Bucky was bouncing on his cock again. Which was good _and_ bad, because Clint was feeling pretty close himself at this point.

_Him first, him first, fuck, little longer, hang on…_

“M’ gonna—” Bucky began to say.

The words were lost as Bucky’s head jerked back in pleasure. Clint had let go of Bucky’s ass and shifted to hold onto his chest instead, pinching his nipples between thumbs and forefingers. It felt like every last inch of Bucky went stiff, the sensation unlike anything Clint had felt before. And then Bucky was thrashing above him, expression one of absolute shock as his orgasm apparently smacked him upside the back of the head.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” he begged, staring down to watch as he shot off between them.

Which was good news, because stopping wasn’t an option. The only thing Clint could do was hold on tight, fishing his hand between them to wrap it around Bucky’s cock. This was the right thing to do, apparently, because Bucky went wild, pushing himself upright and thrusting erratically into Clint’s fist. It was out of control amazing to watch, even better feeling it happening around his dick. Bucky was _so fucking tight_ , each thrust of Clint’s cock accompanied by a fresh jet of come.

“Holy shit, Buck!”

Clint’s chest was streaked and sticky with Bucky’s release, more of it dribbling over his fingers, and pooling on his stomach. Bucky looked just as surprised as Clint felt, even as he gave one last spurt, droplets of come hitting Clint’s cheek. Seconds later, Bucky was pushing Clint’s hand away from his dick, entire body shaking as he stared down at Clint in disbelief.

“Uh, I take it that felt good?” Bucky burst out laughing, prompting Clint to grab his hips and hold on tight. “Okay, I _gotta_ … Can I keep fucking you, or should I just—”

Bucky answered by bouncing himself on Clint’s cock again. “Thank fucking god,” Clint groaned, yanking Bucky down on top of him. Yeah, it was hard to breathe that way, but the feeling of Bucky everywhere was worth the shortness of breath.

Clint curled his hand around the back of Bucky’s head, dragged his fingers through sweat slick hair while pulling him into a sloppy kiss. Bucky panted into his mouth while staring down into his eyes, lips forming Clint’s name over and over again as they kissed. They were sliding together, both of them covered in Bucky’s come now, which was dirty and hot and seriously awesome.

Too tight, too hot, too perfect. Clint sucked in a mouthful of air, hips bucking, every muscle trembling with fatigue, the tightening sensation in his balls pleasantly painful. Bucky squeezed down around him again, was kissing him, stroking his hair, bouncing on Clint’s dick, and then…

Relief washed over Clint in a wave as he came, his arms tight around Bucky’s beautiful body, holding him in place as he gave himself over to sensation. “Best boyfriend ever,” Clint stammered, face pressed against Bucky’s throat. He held on tight, seeing spots behind his eyes as he lost all control over his rhythm, becoming nothing more than a twitching, over-sensitized mess of a human.

Time wasn’t a thing anymore, so Clint didn’t bother trying to keep track of it as the aftershocks of his orgasm pulsed through his body. Tiny, jerking, irregular movements kept him pushing back into Bucky again and again. His hands refused to stay still, needed to touch Bucky, stroke along his flank and through his hair, taking inventory and making sure everything was as it should be.

Then were kissing again, Clint slipping free as they rolled onto their sides, pulling each other close, closer. He was going to need to deal with the condom, but at that particular moment, all Clint wanted was to hold on tight.

“Hope that passed muster.”

Bucky stared at him, pretty eyes narrowed and intense. “Hope that wasn’t a serious question.”

“Nah.” Clint shrugged and smiled at Bucky. “Pretty sure you got come on the ceiling. I done _good_.”

“Real good,” Bucky agreed, and he blushed a bit, which was adorable and hilarious. He also glanced upwards as if to make sure Clint was joking about the ceiling. “All of that stays in the Repeat Performance column.”

Clint sighed and stroked the side of Bucky’s face. “Hey, I know I keep saying this, but best sex ever.”

“You don’t know the half of it, sweetheart,” Bucky said, punctuating the remark with a yawn. “Never had such an intense orgasm. And the shit you were doing with your tongue? You set the bar pretty high, asshole, gonna be a challenge for me to one up you.”

“Come at me, bro.”

Bucky’s expression was too perfectly ridiculous not to laugh over, and it took no time at all for him to join in, so before long the two of them were rocking together with laughter like a couple of punchdrunk idiots. Every last inch of Clint’s body felt good, but also sticky, and so he eventually dragged them both into the bathroom, disposed of the condom, and got the shower going.

Normally, Bucky was big on doing everything himself, not because he was weird about Clint helping out, but because he wanted to become efficient at living a one-handed life. This time, though, he was all about letting Clint take over and do the work, which was fine and dandy. It meant he could get Bucky all soapy and slick, touch him everywhere all over again. Maybe he had a thing for washing Bucky’s hair, but that was okay, too, because Bucky leaned back against his chest and made it obvious he was loving the attention.

And because it had been what felt like a lifetime, and they were in their home, just the two of them, when the urge to sing to Bucky made an appearance, Clint didn’t hold back. Probably he sounded awful and out of tune, but maybe that didn’t matter so much.

“How lucky can one guy be? I kissed him and he kissed me. Like the fella once said, ‘Aint’ that a kick in the head?’”

Bucky turned in his arms, smile all wild and a little ragged around the edges. Clint was pretty sure the kiss had nothing to do with shutting him up, and a whole lot to do with celebrating the two of them being alive and safe in each other’s arms, living together in some crazy happily ever after scenario.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much happy! All of the sex! What could possibly go wrong? *side-eyes Steve real fucking hard*


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When in doubt, ask.

“Thought I’d find you out here.”

Steve turned his head, the setting sun making his fair hair shine like the punk was wearing a halo. The observation caused Bucky’s stomach to clench, something about it stirring up memories of the childhood he’d had before the orphanage; long hours spent in church staring at stained glass windows and his mom’s never ending supply of stories about saints and suffering.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.”

Bucky waited a beat, then plopped his ass down on the roof beside Steve once it became obvious an invitation to join the party wasn’t forthcoming. Since he was an old hand at dealing with his brother, Bucky made a point of keeping his nose pointed straight ahead, using his peripheral vision to capture glimpses of Steve’s sketchbook. Feathers and smoke twisted across the paper, and there was that awful feeling down in his guts again. It went nicely with the alarm bells going off in the back of his head.

“Whatcha workin’ on?”

“Tattoo.”

“Oh yeah? For you or someone else?”

Steve closed the sketchbook. “Me.”

“Nice.” Beside him, Steve started packing up his supplies, movements crisp and precise. “Tasha has something cheesy lined up for me. Sounds like a heart and Clint’s name are involved, so… obviously a win.”

“Obviously.”

Bucky studied Steve as best he could without coming right out and staring. They were sitting on their parents’ porch roof, Brooklyn spread out around them, only Steve was dressed like he was still on base. He didn’t have on his ACU or anything—Bucky was willing to bet Steve had flowcharts in his head of when he could and should wear his uniform now—but he’d managed to find the civilian counterparts. It was all military drab, bloused trousers, and crisp, clean lines. Went real nice with the close shave and the familiar jingle jangle of the dog tags Steve was still wearing under his clothes.

“What’s with all the one word replies?” Bucky asked, leaning back on his elbow. The new position made it impossible for Steve to exit through the window without either asking him to move, or shoving him out of the way.

“Nothing.”

“Wanna try that again? And I’m gonna need at least _two_ words this time.”

Steve’s tight jaw and tighter shoulders broadcast his exasperation loud and clear, but his voice was calm as could be when he finally said, “I’m fine.”

“Uh huh. So, what, I do somethin’ to piss you off, then?”

“No,” Steve said, finally turning to face him. It looked a lot like Steve and sleep weren’t on good terms these days. More than the dark circles, the strange vacantness in Steve’s eyes worried Bucky the most. “Why would you think that?”

“Gee, I dunno. Sent you half a dozen text messages, left voicemails, and I ain’t heard shit back.”

It was hard to say whether the surprise on Steve’s face was a good or a bad thing. On the one hand, Bucky could see Steve beating himself up, which meant Bucky hadn’t actually managed to piss his brother off after all. On the other hand, Steve letting things get away from him like that was concerning; he was sort of known for being on top of shit at all times.

“Sorry, Buck,” Steve said, shaking his head. “I meant to reply, but got distracted.”

“S’fine, don’t worry about it.” Bucky sat up again and gave Steve’s shoulder a squeeze. “We’re all still gettin’ used to this, right? Not like we ever had to schedule seeing each other before.”

“True.” Steve tightened his grip on the notebook, knuckles going white.

Bucky was itching to pull out a cigarette, but it’d give Steve an easy excuse to end the conversation. He didn’t like any of what he was seeing and hearing. It felt especially fucking awful since he didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do to make it better.

When the tension and heartbreak got to be too much, Bucky knew he could count on Clint to make sure he didn’t get lost in his own head, but that was him. Steve wasn’t big on letting people help him with that sort of stuff, never had been. His approach was to bottle everything up, put on a brave front, and power through. If Bucky came right out and told Steve he looked like shit and that he was worried about him, he’d probably only double down on the “everything’s fine” routine.

Steve’s history of handling other’s concerns poorly was the reason why Bucky made himself stay put when he hadn’t gotten a reply to his texts. If he’d stormed over to the house all guns blazing, it wouldn’t have help anything. Instead, he’d played the waiting game, sending off stupid observations, invitations to hang out, pictures of Lucky and Clint being adorable together, getting a whole lot of nothing in return.

According to their folks, since Bucky and Clint had moved out, Steve had been spending most of his time either running or holed up in his childhood bedroom. He participated in social interactions just enough to avoid a confrontation. All household chores were completed before anyone had to ask for help. Steve attended dinner every night and made a point of initiating small talk, but carefully and steadfastly steered the conversation away from him and his plans for the future. Dinner was followed up by an offer to do the dishes and at least twice a week he stuck around to watch a movie or some TV with their dads.

That wasn’t _living_ , though.

“Guess I’m still not used to the new phone,” Steve said, clearing his throat. It was bullshit, but they both knew Bucky wasn’t going to call him on it. “How’re things going with Clint?”

“Great,” Bucky answered. Ridiculous or not, hearing Clint’s name was enough to make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “Didn’t think I could love the idiot more than I already do, but somehow, at the end of every day, I wind up more in love than when I started.”

Steve stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to comprehend Bucky's words, furrow slowly forming between his brows. “I’m happy for you, Buck. _Both_ of you. And… I’m still sorry, for what I said back… back in the hospital. I’m glad you didn’t listen to me.”

“It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean anythin’ by it, Stevie,” Bucky said, knocking their shoulders together. “So, what’ve you been up to?”

“Nothing much.”

Steve made a subtle adjustment to the sketchbook tucked against his thigh. It was tempting to make a grab for it, flip the thing open and get a good look at what his brother was hiding. If they’d still been kids, Bucky would’ve done it without thinking, because sometimes Steve needed a push in the right direction before he’d open his mouth. Now, though, Bucky didn’t trust Steve to keep his footing if pushed. Worse still, he was pretty sure that the Steve sharing the roof with him wasn’t in a position to come up swinging if he got knocked down, which was just _scary_ if you knew anything about Steve Rogers.

“Richard stopped by the other day,” Steve added. “He had a sonogram with him.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky tried his best to sound like this was exciting news. “Did it actually look like anything or was it a bunch of weird blobs?”

“Blobs,” Steve said, managing to sound amused. “Definitely blobs. Richard says Mary and the baby are doing well.” Steve shook his head and shrugged. “The whole thing still seems…”

Steve’s jaw was tight and he was staring out at the neighborhood like the words he was looking for were hiding in one of the houses, or someone’s backyard.

“Surreal as fuck?” Bucky offered when the silence dragged on too long.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, sounding relieved. “It’s hard to imagine Richard being someone’s _father_. Not that I think he’d be a _bad_ father.”

“I know what you mean.” Bucky said, “but he’s been out, what, like eight months now or somethin’?”

“Almost nine.”

“Well, there you go. He’s probably settled down a bit by now. Anyway, from what I’ve heard, parenting might as well be war. Parker can get his adrenaline fix by being woken up at ass o’clock in the morning by a screaming baby.”

“I hope so.” Steve was still staring off into the distance, jaw tight. “I was asking what I thought were some pretty basic questions, but Richard didn’t have any answers. He acts like they have all the time in the world to figure things out. October isn’t that far off, Buck. I’m not sure they’re prepared for how drastically their lives are about to change.”

Steve bitching about someone else’s lack of preparedness was so familiar that Bucky couldn’t help but feel relieved. That he’d used full sentences and actually sounded cranky about Parker’s lack of panic over impending fatherhood was even better.

“Alright, that’s it, I’m startin’ a betting pool.” There was a lot more life behind Steve’s eyes when he turned to stare at Bucky. “Over-under on how long before you take Parker aside to ‘talk logistics’.”

To his surprise, Steve actually laughed at this, hung his head and everything. “Already happened.”

“Are you shittin’ me?” Bucky crowed, grabbing Steve by the back of his neck and giving him a shake. “ _Stevie_!”

“I couldn’t help myself,” Steve said, the smile still in his voice even if it was nowhere to be seen on his face. “Zero planning, Buck. Their condo doesn’t have room for a nursery, he looked at me like I was insane when I asked where they were doing their childbirth-education classes, neither of them have told their employers—”

The best part was, Bucky could see it all in his mind, clear as day. Parker was both brilliant and fearless in the field, but notoriously allergic to the sort of planning Captain Rogers lived and breathed for. Ahead of every engagement involving Parker, there inevitably came the moment when Steve hit critical mass, and asked for a moment alone to “talk logistics” with the man. The phrase was code for Steve unleashing the full brunt of his stubborn, tactically inclined mind on Richard, intent on having contingency plans for every possible scenario, in case shit went off the rails. Betting on how long Steve could hold out was a beloved tradition, one even Parker got in on from time to time.

“Fuckin’ hell, Steve,” Bucky managed through his laughter. “The least you could’ve done was given us a chance to enjoy the show!”

Steve shook his head, mouth twitching as he fought his smile. “I guarantee this was only the first of many. He told me not to worry about it, like it’ll all magically work itself out.”

“Someone oughta warn Mary,” Bucky teased. “If this plays out the way it usually does, Parker’s gonna delegate the shit outta this mission, and you’ll wind up at the lamaze classes with her.”

“As long as I don’t have to deliver the baby.”

“Don’t even joke about it, man. I _know_ Parker. That ass’ll find a way to get the three of you trapped in an elevator or some shit. You’ll be stuck helping Mary bring the kid into the world, while he takes video with his phone, and laughs his ass off.”

“That’s terrifying,” Steve said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “mostly because I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Bucky gave his brother a pat on the back. “Nah, he’ll come ‘round. Mary’s hardly even showin’, so the whole fatherhood thing probably doesn’t even feel real to him yet.” Steve sighed, some of the tension creeping back into his shoulders. “Watch, he’ll be a natural.”

“I hope so.”

“Yeah, well, _I_ hope this kid gets to enjoy some of the ridiculous punishments Parker came up with over the years.”

Steve’s smile was there and gone again. “Sweeping the sunshine off the sidewalk was always my favorite.”

“Ah, yes, classic. Think of all the character it’ll build.”

“Hm.” Steve stared down at his boots wearing a grim expression, jaw twitching again, like he had something to say, but was having trouble making himself open his mouth. “The sonogram was only an excuse to visit. Richard was really here to feel me out about a job.”

Bucky was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like the answer to his next question. “What kind of job?”

“Government work,” Steve said after a moment.

“Government… Wait, not alphabet soup shit?” Bucky asked, sitting up straighter. Not only did he want that cigarette more than ever, he was feeling a profound need to go punch Parker in the mouth. “Which agency?”

“He was steering me toward the CIA,” Steve said, “but between his and Fury’s connections, I’d have my choice. If I’m interested.”

All of a sudden, Bucky could see it playing out in his mind, Steve heading up some taskforce or other, putting himself right back in the line of fire so someone else didn’t have to be there. And if that meant he died in the line of duty…

Bucky cleared his throat, heart pounding away chaotically in his chest. “ _Are_ you interested?”

“Richard thinks I could make a decent enough career for myself.” Steve sighed, scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t know.”

As much as Bucky wanted to start raising hell over the idea, he kept his mouth shut. Steve was still working things over in his head. If he wasn’t careful he’d get his brother’s hackles up, which was the last damn thing he needed.

“Me and Clint got a lot of “I don't know” going on, too.”

It must have been the right thing to say, because Steve lifted his head, swiveled to give Bucky his full attention. “Really?”

“Definitely,” Bucky said, shrugging. “Only part of our future we've got figured out is that we wanna spend it together. Other than that? I ain't got a clue.”

Steve seemed surprised, maybe even concerned. “Bucky—”

“Look, we got enough money to get by for now, as long as we keep to our budget. And I'm sure given some time and luck, we'll land decent enough jobs. But…”

“But?” Steve prompted, curling a hand around Bucky's shoulder.

“ _But_ , we were all together, before.” Familiar and most definitely missed faces swam up in Bucky’s mind, bringing with them a fresh wave of grief. He cleared his throat. “We already lost so much. Hard to wrap my head around not havin’ that anymore.”

Steve exhaled all in a rush, fingers sliding from Bucky's shoulder, and then he found himself tucked under the familiar weight of his brother’s arm. “Me too, Buck.”

“Hey, at least we’re all in New York,” Bucky said, leaning into the embrace. Steve hummed his agreement. “I wonder if Parker will waste his time trying to talk Tasha into black ops shit?”

Sitting close the way they were, Bucky could feel Steve’s muscles tense in response to the words. “You don’t think she’d say yes?”

“If we’d left under different circumstances, sure. Now, though? Natasha could’ve had her own command if she wanted, but she came home with us, instead. I’m pretty sure she’s lookin’ for a fresh start, not more of the same.”

Steve’s expression was somber as he looked out over the neighborhood. “The idea of a fresh start… it’s _difficult_. Especially here.”

“Here, like New York, or—”

“No, _here_ , back at the house,” Steve said, knocking against the roof. “The last time we lived here… A lot has changed since then. Only, it _hasn’t_.” Steve exhaled sharply through his nose, letting go of Bucky in the process. “Enough is the same to… to make it obvious how different _I_ am.”

And there it was, _finally_ , something for Bucky to work with. He didn’t stop to think it through, just opened his mouth and went with his instincts.

“So how ‘bout you stay with me and Clint for awhile?”

“What?” Steve’s haunted expression was chased away by confusion.

“You heard me. I know it ain't big, but there’s plenty of space for you to crash in the living room.”

“Buck, thank you, but I can’t—”

“Bull _shit_ you can’t,” Bucky said, lightly punching Steve in the thigh. “I get where you’re comin’ from, Stevie. At least Bed-Stuy’s somethin’ new, right? No good _or_ bad associations.”

“I don’t know, Bucky.” Steve’s expression might have fooled someone who didn’t know him better, but Bucky could see how much Steve wanted to say _yes_.

“And anyway, I miss you,” Bucky added, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat.

“I miss you, too,” Steve said, and then the arm was back around Bucky’s shoulders, “but I also know you and Clint are… You’re starting a new life together. You don’t need me getting in the way.”

“What’re you talkin’ about, in the way? You’re my _brother_. Whatever life I have, you’re gonna be a big part of it, okay? And I said stay _awhile_ , not forever. We have our old Xbox hooked up, cool neighbors, a spare set of keys, and a dog that likes pizza more than I do. What more could you want?”

Steve laughed at this, a soft sound, but it still counted. Bucky held his breath as he waited for an answer. Steve’s fingertips dragged along the spine of his sketchbook as he mentally weighed the pros and cons. When Steve’s shoulders straightened a moment later, relief coursed through Bucky, leaving him feeling lightheaded.

“It’s not forever,” Steve said cautiously.

“No, just for right now,” Bucky agreed. “You can help me figure my shit out. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Thanks, Stevie.” Bucky fished out his smokes, not surprised in the least when Steve snatched them out of his hand, and crushed the pack. “Hey!”

“What? I’m helping,” Steve said, finally sounding like himself. “I hope you haven’t been smoking inside the apartment.”

“Are you kidding? Clint would smack me if I tried it,” Bucky said with a smile.

“Speaking of Clint,” Steve said, grabbing his sketchbook and heading for the window, “you should probably talk this over with him first.”

Bucky followed his brother through Steve’s bedroom window, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head telling him that Steve was probably right. Problem was, there was always the chance that Steve would start overthinking things and change his mind, so the sooner Bucky got him situated at their place, the better.

“Nah, it’s fine. Clint misses you, too, you know,” Bucky added. “How ‘bout you pack some things while I let the folks know what’s up?”

For a moment, it looked like Steve might argue, but instead he nodded. “Okay. Give me a couple a minutes, I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Sounds good.”

Once he was down in the kitchen, Bucky exhaled loudly, and flopped himself into an empty chair.

“Well, I heard laughter,” Jim said around a mouthful of sandwich. “That’s a big improvement.”

Bucky nodded and waved away Gabe’s offer of coffee. “Mostly mine. Got him to crack a smile at least. Kid’s spendin’ way too much time up in his head.”

“Sounds like our Stevie.” Dum Dum clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “Been trying to pull him back to shore, but I get the distinct impression I’m makin’ the boy feel like he’s disappointin’ us by having a hard time of things.”

“Yeah, hate to say it, but you probably are.” Bucky sighed and dragged his hand through his hair, feeling weighed down by his emotions. After a quick glance over his shoulder, he lowered his voice. “He’d get like this, before, but it ain’t like the Army stops, right? Cap could focus on gettin’ ready for the next big thing, keep one foot in front of the other. He’s addicted to responsibility, and right now that’s in short supply.”

Jacques positioned himself so that he had a good line of sight, and could warn them ahead of Steve’s arrival. After the all clear nod, Gabe pulled up a chair. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Don’t know ‘bout long term, but I talked him into stayin’ with me and Clint, at least for a little while,” Bucky said. “I think being back where he started is makin’ it tough right now. Besides, havin’ us in his hair will be familiar, and if he feels like he’s helping me acclimate, then that’s all the better.”

“It’s a start,” Jim said. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do.”

Bucky nodded. “Thanks. Love you, guys.”

This, of course, led to a round of hugs, so that by the time they finished up, Bucky felt incredibly grateful, and a lot less overwhelmed.

“Right, time to start bullshittin’, so we don’t creep him out when he comes downstairs.”

Which wasn’t too difficult. Bucky could happily talk about Clint for hours, because he was ridiculously in love, and had no shame where that was concerned. And so he was in the middle of explaining how colossally the love of his life managed to fuck up making pancakes the day before when Steve reappeared.

More hugging, reminders from their folks that there was always a place for them at the house if they needed it, and then he and his brother were out the door.

There were plenty of days when the trains sketched Bucky out, and made his hair stand on end, but Steve seemed unphased by the number of people around them. It could have been because they were keeping their distance; Steve was wearing one of his serious expressions, duffle slung over his shoulder, and looked very much like a guy you didn’t want to fuck with.

Before too long they were walking in the front door, Lucky rushing over to say hello with the sort of enthusiasm Bucky never tired of. “Hey, boy,” he said, dropping to a crouch so he could love on the pup. “You keep Clint outta trouble while I was gone?”

Lucky barked, tail wagging away.

“Good boy.” Bucky reached around Steve to close the door. “We got room in the closet down here if you wanna hang anything up, or stow your shit. Otherwise, feel free to occupy a corner while I figure out what’s on the menu for tonight.”

Steve shuffled indecisively for a moment, but then headed for the closet to hang up his coat and unload his duffle. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Bucky said, clapping him on the back, “you’d do the same for us.”

Much to Bucky’s dismay, Clint wasn’t anywhere to be found. His first thought was that something had gone horribly wrong, but Bucky managed to calm himself down before the anxiety got out of control. Most of the time he was pretty good about keeping a lid on the fear and paranoia, but some days it was like having all the oxygen sucked from the room. When it happened, Clint was pretty cool at playing along, staying put at home so Bucky could keep an eye on him. Of course, more often than not, this also led to some excellent sex, so it wasn’t exactly a punishment or anything.

After making sure nothing embarrassing was left out in the bedroom, Bucky headed back downstairs. Clint’s bow was missing from its customary spot above the couch, which solved the mystery. And, since he was the best, sexiest boyfriend ever, Clint had also left a note on the fridge.

_Heading to the range. Walked Lucky before I left. Will bring back pizza. ETA 19:30. Love you._

While Steve headed upstairs to use the bathroom, Bucky fished out his phone, intending to send off a text to let Clint know they had company. But then Lucky was barking again, and the front door was opening, and there Clint was, in all his grumpy-faced glory.

“Today can officially suck my nuts,” Clint announced, kicking the door shut.

Bucky wasn’t going to be much help with the pizza boxes Clint was carrying, but he could keep Lucky from taking the man’s legs out from under him, so he opted to do that, instead.

“Got in a fight with my therapist, my belt broke, Lucky shit on the floor because I missed not one, not two, but _three_ different trains today and was late as hell for his walk,” Clint said, marching into the kitchen to set down their pizza. “Oh, _coffee_ , a full cup of it, knocked right out of my hand! And then I managed to get accused of stealing PEZ from the corner store, because this fuckin’—”

Of course, by this point, Bucky was laughing his ass off.

“You need to stop that right now,” Clint said, his goofy, lopsided smile finally making it onto his face. Clint grabbed him around the waist, and pulled him in close, nuzzling Bucky’s neck, leaving a big wet kiss below his ear. “Only thing that got me through the day was thinking ‘bout coming home to my Bucky-boo for pizza and blow jobs.”

“Nope! Unacceptable nickname—”

Bucky’s words were cut off by a kiss, and a really nice one at that, the sort where Clint cupped his face to keep him from going anywhere, then gave it to him good. Bucky responded on autopilot, which meant he was still kissing Clint when he heard Steve come out of the bathroom. Reluctantly, Bucky put some space between them.

“What’s up?” Clint said.

One second he was confused as hell, but the next Clint must have spotted Steve over Bucky’s shoulder, because his expression shifted into something Bucky hadn’t seen in awhile. It was closed off, wary, like all of sudden Clint needed to be on high fucking alert. There and gone again, replaced by a welcoming smile, but Bucky had still caught it.

“Hey, Steve! I didn’t know you were here,” Clint said, edging around Bucky to pull Steve into a hug. “Pizza is served, if you’re hungry.”

“Sure,” Steve signed. “Thank you.”

Clint caught Bucky’s eye before making a grab for the paper plates. He didn’t look mad or anything, just ever so slightly disappointed, and maybe a bit hungry for more than pizza.

It was dawning on Bucky that he could have easily given Clint a head’s up about Steve once they were on the train, or at any point between leaving Flatbush and arriving home. Now, it was too late, since they couldn’t exactly talk it over with Steve standing next to them.

“Good pizza is in this box,” Clint said, sliding three slices of pepperoni pizza onto his plate, “and abomination pizza is in the other. Choose wisely.”

“If you’d _try_ it, you might change your mind,” Bucky countered. “Pineapple on pizza is legit. It wouldn’t be on the menu, otherwise.”

The argument was a familiar one, and by the time they were settling down on the couch, Bucky could almost convince himself everything was normal. The only problem was, Steve looked like he had about an hour before he passed out from exhaustion, and Clint kept shooting him furtive glances.

Steve helped himself to a slice of Bucky’s pie, and played along with Clint, as per usual, picking off the pineapples before taking a bite.

“ _Wasteful_ , Rogers,” Bucky grumbled.

Steve shrugged. “I’ll eat them for dessert later.”

After some debate over what to watch, Clint put on a movie, something stupid involving aliens. Bucky let it become background noise, too preoccupied with trying to read the room to care what was happening on the TV.

As soon as he finished up his food, Clint got a good slouch going, then turned to give Bucky the puppy eyes when he failed to follow protocol. On any other night, he would have tucked himself right up against Clint, but it felt rude to snuggle in front of Steve when he’d hardly had a chance to settle into the new living arrangement.

Clint folded his arms across his chest and pouted at the TV, while Steve cleaned up the remnants of dinner. “It’s cool,” Clint said, “me and Buck can get it.”

“Might as well do it now,” Steve said. “Then we don’t have to worry about it later.”

Bucky watched Steve carry everything back to the kitchen, then turned to find Clint staring at him like he just _knew_ Bucky had fucked up somehow.

“What the hell is going on?” Clint signed, glaring when Bucky waved away the question with a dismissive, “Later.”

After what felt like twelve hours, the stupid movie finally wrapped up. Bucky was relieved, but not sure why, exactly, since it only got more awkward. Clint turned off the TV, stretched dramatically, and then rolled himself up and onto his feet.

“I'm gonna take Lucky for his walk,” Clint said. “Don't want another poop incident.”

“I can do it,” Steve offered. “I usually go for a run before bed, anyway.”

Clint turned to arch a brow at Bucky, who valiantly ignored him. “Thanks, Stevie. That'd be great.”

Steve grabbed his coat from the closet, shrugging it on while Bucky hooked the leash to Lucky’s collar. “Should I just grab the spare keys from you now?”

“Yeah, might as well.” Bucky walked into the kitchen, pulled open the junk drawer, and palmed the keys. He could feel Clint’s eyes on him as he did so, but couldn’t quite bring himself to look. “I’ll stay up ‘til you get back so we can get you situated.”

“Thanks, Buck.”

Lucky barked happily as Steve took hold of the leash and led him out the door. Bucky watched them go, head hanging as soon as the door closed behind his brother. He took a deep breath, then squared his shoulders, and turned to face Clint.

“Wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Well, there was no easy way to say it, so... “Uh, I kinda told Stevie he should stay with us.”

“What?” Clint’s irritation was washed away by shock, and then something that looked a lot like full fledged _despair_. “Wait, are you serious?”

“You didn’t see him earlier,” Bucky said, taking a few steps closer. “He’s not doin’ good, Clint, and being at the old house is only makin’ it worse. What the fuck was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, _talk to me first_ , maybe?”

“Okay, fair enough,” Bucky agreed, feeling like a fuckup. “I panicked and went with it, what can I say? I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your lame apology,” Clint said, folding his arms across his chest.

“I’m serious, Clint. I’m _sorry_. I suck. I should have talked to you first, but I didn’t. Can’t exactly change that now.”

“How long is he staying?” Clint asked, jaw tight.

Bucky did his best to remind himself that one little fight wasn’t the end of the world. Clint might be pissed off for a couple days, but he wasn’t going to leave him. “However long he needs to.”

“Cool.” Clint shook his head, expression going all blank and detached the way it always did when he was really upset. “So, Steve lives here with us indefinitely. In our one bedroom apartment.”

“I fuckin’ get it, okay?” Bucky snapped. “But Steve _needs_ me right now! Yeah, I should’ve talked it over first, we’ve established that. Let’s pretend we’re doin’ it now. In what fuckin’ universe am I gonna sit by and let him implode, Clint? None! And I gotta believe that you’d be there at my side, ready to help. Am I wrong?”

Clint opened and closed his mouth a few times, but nothing came out.

“You’re honestly tellin’ me you’d have said _no_ if I’d asked?” Bucky could feel his temper getting away from him, the sensation burning like a wildfire through his body. It felt like his left hand was clenched in a fist, ready to swing.

“You’re such an asshole sometimes,” Clint said, eyes all dark and stormy. “No, okay, are you happy? If you’d asked, we’d be in the exact same situation we’re in now. Only difference is, I’d have had a minute to get used to the idea, and might have felt like you—I dunno—considered me an equal partner.”

That just sat sideways in Bucky’s heart. “Sweetheart, you’re defi—”

“This feels _shitty_ ,” Clint interrupted. “I know it’s selfish, but I was really…” He stopped to press his lips together, blinking rapidly as if fighting tears. “After all that time, I finally… _Fuck_. Sorry. I finally had you to myself, and now—”

Bucky crossed the space between them to kiss Clint quiet. “What’re you talkin’ about, baby?” He stroked Clint’s cheek, ducked his head a bit so he could force some eye contact. “You still got me. _All_ of me, for however long you want.”

“So why’d you leave me hanging earlier?” Clint asked. “Steve’s seen us huddle up before.”

“I know, that was on me,” Bucky insisted. “It won’t happen again.”

“A lot won’t be happening again,” Clint said. “We don’t even have a bedroom with a door, Buck, and you need to walk _through_ it to get to the bathroom. And stealth fucking in the dark means I can’t read lips, or see you. That’s not any fun for me, okay?”

It was Bucky’s turn to be at a loss for words. He’d actually liked that about the apartment when they’d been shown the place, and hadn’t given it much thought when inviting Steve to camp out in the living room. But Clint was right, they weren’t exactly set up for privacy.

“We’ll figure that out, too,” he promised, kissing the corner of Clint’s mouth. “I swear. It’s not forever, baby.”

Clint still looked miserable, and it made Bucky feel like human garbage to see it, and know he was the reason why.

“Look, Parker stopped by and tried to recruit Steve for the CIA on behalf of his friends in high places,” Bucky explained, anger bubbling up again. “You saw him earlier, he’s a mess right now. We both know if he said yes, it’d be for the wrong fuckin’ reasons.”

Bucky watched Clint’s sorrow shift into concern. “No way he’d pass the psych-eval.”

“Maybe not,” Bucky agreed, “but I’m not takin’ the risk Parker wouldn’t work some dark political magic and get him through anyway. Don’t really wanna know how he’d handle flunking the crazy test, either.”

“Damn it.” Clint’s shoulders slumped. “Fine, I get why you made the call. Still feels shitty, though.” Strong arms wound around him, pulling Bucky in close, and holding him tight. “I spent a long time dreaming about playing house with you. I know it wasn’t perfect, but… I was real happy, Buck.”

It felt like someone had knocked the air out of him. Bucky curled his hand around Clint’s jaw, kissed him hard, then again because of the look in Clint’s eyes. “Stop talkin’ like this is the end of something,” he begged. “It’s still you and me, sweetheart, I promise. I love you so much, Clint, ain’t nothin’ gonna change that.”

“I love you, too.” Clint shared a wobbly smile, then returned the kiss, softer, sweeter, the look in his eyes making Bucky’s heart feel like someone was gripping it in a vice. “Right. It’s been a long day. I’m gonna head up to bed.”

“You sure?”

Clint nodded. “If I stick around, Steve will only figure out I’m upset, then pack his shit and go.” He gave Bucky another kiss, then headed for the stairs. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Bucky parroted, heart heavy as he watched Clint leave.

Like every other day, Bucky found himself more in love with Clint than when he’d started, but now he had the sinking feeling that if he was brave enough to ask, Clint would have a very different answer on how he was ending his own day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Bucky. You done fucked up, buddy. Very good intensions and all, but, ah... the situation has changed a bit since you all lived together. *points to previous chapter* Whomp whomp. I'm sure Clint will be SUPER HAPPY AND OKAY with how this plays out. *hides in dumpster*


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Potential Trigger Warning....** for someone being an ass and using hateful language to describe same-sex relationships.

“If you _really_ cared, you’d punch me in the mouth already, so I’d shut up.”

Natasha leveled him with one of her very best “don’t try my patience” looks, and suddenly Clint was worried she might take him up on the offer.

“Figuratively,” he added, emphasizing this sentiment by hiding behind his beer, “not literally.”

The smile in Tasha’s eyes was enough to make him relax, despite the theatrical knuckle cracking. Her tiny, deceptively delicate hands might have fooled someone else, but Clint knew for a fact that if Natasha was going to bother with hitting you, she’d make sure you felt it for a long ass time.

“Feel any better for having vented?” she asked.

Clint emptied the rest of his beer in one long, desperate guzzle, then tossed the bottle across the room and into the recycling bin. Based on the way Natasha whipped ‘round to look over her shoulder and the heat she threw his way when she turned back to face him, Clint assumed he’d used poor judgement.

“I know I didn’t miss, so… I sincerely apologize for filling your bin with broken glass,” Clint slouched down into Natasha’s couch cushions, snagging the last beer out of the six pack sitting at his feet. “And no. I don’t feel any better.”

“Well—”

“I feel _worse_ ,” Clint continued, “‘cause I’m bitchin’ about my Bucky behind his back, and we’re s’posed to communicate and shit when we’re upset. That’s a rule.”

It’d seemed like a really good rule, too, right up until Bucky moved Steve into the apartment.

“Then talk to him.”

“That’s the problem.” Clint took a deep breath, and opened his beer. “There’s no _point_. Steve needs him, the end.” After a nice long pull from the bottle, he still felt the same, and so he took another. “And he really, _really_ does, Tash. Steve’s a fuckin’ mess.”

_Figuratively. Again._

Because if you were talking literally, Steve was spic and fucking span. He still exercised and ate like he needed to be in peak physical condition. The man shaved _every day_ , and dressed like they were back in basic and some drill sergeant was gonna read them the riot act if anything was out of place. Everywhere he went, order and tidiness followed, to the extent that Clint no longer felt comfortable in his own home. He couldn’t even put his feet up on the coffee table _he’d_ picked out without getting the stink eye from Captain Rogers.

Bucky acted like it was normal to have Steve slipping coasters under their drinks, and compulsively doing the dishes, or taking it upon himself to rearrange Clint’s collection of graphic novels. And that right there, seeing the way Bucky just took it all in stride, that _sucked_ , made Clint feel like _he_ was the one with the problem.

Only, Bucky was playing pretend because he was scared shitless Steve was going to give up and jump off a bridge, or sign up to get himself killed in action after becoming involved in government sponsored international espionage. The craziest part was, those were legitimate concerns. Like they didn’t have enough shit to deal with already.

Steve was a walking, talking, human train wreck at the moment, but by all accounts he’d been _worse_ before moving in with them. That pretty much made Clint the world’s biggest asshole for wanting to kick Steve out so that he could get back to living his life.

Despite years of being forced into one by the Army, Clint had never been a routine kind of guy, so it was weird to find himself mourning the loss of rinse and repeat activities. When your day to day regime was built around forging an even deeper connection with the love of your life, it was spectacular. And now everything about the routine they’d established had gone to shit, Steve supplanting Clint in ways that made him want to crawl under the covers and never come out again.

It would’ve been easier if Steve had moved in with them right from the start. Instead, Clint had gotten a taste of living out his dream with Bucky—a legitimate happily ever after scenario—and then had it taken away.

Once upon a time, when he woke up in the morning, Bucky was still there in the bed with him, usually curled around his back, nuzzling the nape of his neck. Clint’s overwhelming need to be kissing Bucky at all times meant more often than not they got out of bed long enough to brush their teeth and pee before climbing back in, but sometimes you woke up to a blowjob and everything else took a backseat.

Their day officially started with the two of them taking Lucky for his morning walk, Bucky puffing away on a cigarette and calling out greetings to all the neighborhood regulars. Some days they wound up coming back with breakfast burritos and strong coffee after shooting the shit down at the corner store, but it was kinder to their budget to cook at home. If it was Clint’s turn, the odds were fifty-fifty on whether or not he’d lose track of what he was doing and burn something, but Bucky always ate it anyway, even if he complained the whole time.

As they were still without jobs, they had more free time than most people, so there were definitely days when Clint very happily refused to get dressed, and sat around in his underwear playing Xbox or drawing. But even with that, it still felt like there was plenty going on. Bucky was big on making sure they each worked at improving their sign language, so they’d enrolled in a free class together. Twice a week there was Bucky’s physical therapy, which was supposed to lessen the issues he was having with phantom limb pain, and then there was the _other_ sort of therapy, which they were both getting. And all the usual civilian life stuff still had to happen, too, like laundry and grocery shopping, but—sappy or not—getting to do it with Bucky made it fun.

But that was before. Now, when he woke up in the morning, Bucky wasn’t there. Sometimes he was downstairs sipping on a cup of coffee while Steve made breakfast, other mornings neither of them were there, because Lucky’s morning walk had become a Steve and Bucky thing. Same with sitting on the front steps to people watch, or shoot the shit with their neighbors, or just to get some fresh air.

Steve had taken over grocery shopping, too, and the reasoning behind it was real nice—he was paying for their groceries—but the man had a vendetta against empty calories, nitrates, and preservatives, so most of Clint’s favorite foods were right off the menu. After the first trip, he’d stopped tagging along, since it was easier than dealing with Steve putting his choices back on the shelves like he was a naughty little kid.

Clint struggled with the unfamiliar and ugly ways it made him feel, wanting to shove the emotions aside and ignore the implications, but even the neighborhood had noticed something was wrong in the Barnes-Barton household. Playing the “You’re Probably Overreacting” game came to an abrupt end for Clint after a somber Mrs. Pak pulled him aside one afternoon to give him the bad news. According to the neighborhood gossip, Bucky was cheating on him with a taller, handsomer blond who was in much better shape than Clint.

“That’s his brother,” a very embarrassed Clint had explained, to which Mrs. Pak had replied, “Are you sure? They don’t look like brothers.”

The rest of the world could see Clint had been replaced, so it only made sense that he’d feel Jealous with a capital J, but he was dumb and hadn’t expected that to be the case. Frustrated and stressed out? Sure, but not _jealous_. Right from the moment he’d met them, Clint had understood that the brothers were a package deal. It was stupid to think any part of that would change just because he and Bucky started having sex. Not that they were having much sex anymore. Clint was fully aware that Steve wasn’t _trying_ to cockblock him, but the results were the same.

Acknowledging how much he missed the sex was another of those things that made Clint uncomfortable in ways he hadn’t expected. The desperate, depressing ache of unfulfilled desire and all the complicated emotions that came along for the ride messed with his head. Clint had spent _years_ going without sex because of his feelings for Bucky. If anyone should be able to rise above his boner, it should be him, right?

Clint tried on a daily basis to convince himself that he had nothing to feel guilty about. It wasn’t like he only wanted Bucky for his body. Orgasms were something he could get on his own, although it was depressing as hell jerking off in the shower to thoughts of your boyfriend when he was nearby and you could have been having sex _with_ him, instead.

No, what he really missed was the _intimacy_ that came with sex, that connection that made it feel like they were the only two people in the world. And outside of the bedroom, all of the little ways in which he and Bucky had been battling through life together, day after day, had kept the illusion going. For a little while, it had been The Bucky and Clint Super Gay Sunset Extravaganza, but now it was The Bucky and Steve Codependency Clusterfuck, with special guest Clint Barton.

_Congratulations, dumb ass, you’ve officially become an extra in your own life._

Natasha poured herself more wine. “It isn’t healthy for anyone if Steve’s issues take over your lives.”

“It isn’t forever. I just need to find a way to deal,” Clint said. Squeezing his eyes shut made it feel like he was floating in a sea of darkness, disconnected from the world. “Bucky needs to focus on Steve. It’s my job to keep him in one piece while he does it, not give him _more_ to deal with. I’m not allowed to be that selfish.”

Natasha nudged him with her foot, and Clint opened his eyes again so he could see what she had to say.

“You’re important, too.”

_But I’ll always be less important than Steve. Boo-hoo. Cry me a river, you big jealous baby._

“I guess. Steve would give everything he had, right down to his organs, if Bucky needed him to. Come on, Tasha, you saw what he put himself through saving Buck’s life. I _owe_ him. We _all_ owe him.”

Which was the truth. If Steve hadn’t been there, none of them would have gotten out alive, least of all Bucky. Clint reminded himself of it whenever Steve annoyed him, which was about a hundred times a day. It was becoming some sort of fucked up mantra.

_He’s the reason Bucky’s alive. You owe him. He’s the reason you’re alive. You owe him. He’s the reason—_

Clint’s only realistic option was to suck it up, keep his mouth shut, and wait it out. Help, when and if he could. Try to ignore the near constant ache in his chest. Comfort and support Bucky while he comforted and supported Steve.

“Let me know how I can help.”

“This is pretty great,” Clint said, waving his hand between the two of them. “Thanks for letting me get drunk in your living room.”

Natasha shifted on the couch and tucked her feet beneath Clint's thigh. “Day drinking shouldn't become a habit. You need another outlet.”

“Uh huh.” Clint closed his eyes again and let himself drift, knowing he was safe as long as Natasha was around. “I’ll find one tomorrow.”

Clint jolted back to attention when his phone vibrated. He fished it out of his pocket, momentarily disoriented as he opened his eyes. The TV was on, the lighting in the room was different, and Natasha was tucking into a steaming carton of Chinese takeout with a pair of chopsticks.

“Did I fall asleep?” he asked, rubbing the side of his head, which is when he remembered the phone in his hand. “Awww, phone.” It was ringing—as in a _call_ , not a text—and Clint didn’t recognize the number. He shoved the phone at Natasha. “It’s prolly the VA or one of those automated prescription robots, I dunno.”

Natasha tapped the screen to accept the call, switching it to speaker as she shifted to face Clint, making sure he could see her lips. And normally, that would have been good, but the drinks had finally caught up with him, and Clint was having a bit of trouble focusing. He slapped a hand over one eye in an attempt to compensate for the double vision, and then gave Tasha a thumbs up.

“Who’s fish?” Natasha asked, eyes widening as she listened to the response. “Oh, hi, Barbie, it’s Natasha. I surfed with your mother.”

Clint burst out laughing. “Who the hell is Barbie? Hang up.”

He reached over to hit the shiny red button on the screen, but Natasha grabbed hold of his wrist, and Clint froze. Tasha was speaking to Barbie again, lips moving too fast for him to follow, so Clint gave up trying and flopped back onto the couch. The room spun dangerously around him before settling back into place.

“Oops. I’m drunk,” he giggled. “What was the APB on those beers? Wait. That’s wrong. ABP?” Natasha shook his arm to get his attention. “ABV!”

A piece of paper was shoved in front of his face, and even though there was only one word written down, it took a minute before Clint could puzzle it out. When it finally swam into focus, a wave of cold washed over him, sweeping away all the amusing aspects of his inebriated state.

“Oh. _Barney_. Right,” he said, heart kicking into overdrive. “That makes more sense.”

Clint scrubbed his hands through his hair, guilt and finality and all sorts of other heavy shit slamming down on him hard. “Is he pissed? He’s probably pissed.”

Natasha moved the phone to the coffee table, and scribbled another note on the piece of paper before handing it to Clint.

_You didn’t tell your brother what happened to us?_

“No, ‘cause I suck,” Clint moaned, pulling up the hood on his sweatshirt. “I was gonna, but, like… I dunno. I kinda built it up in my head, and then the whole thing became super intimidating—”

Tasha waved to get his attention, then spoke slowly, over enunciating her words. “He’s here in New York and wants to see you.”

“Yeah, okay, that would be easier,” Clint agreed. Natasha was watching him expectantly. “Wait, _now_?” She nodded. “Oh. Uh, m’drunk, but sure, yeah. Should I go home first?”

More scribbling. _Already gave him my address. Go drink water, then come back and eat something._

Clint was drunk, but he still wasn’t stupid enough to disobey a direct order from Natasha. He saluted as he lurched to his feet, kicking the empty six pack container in the process, which made him jump and almost fall over. Somehow, Clint made it into the kitchen without breaking anything, guzzled a glass of water, poured a second, then detoured to the bathroom before returning to the couch. Sure enough, there was a container of Singapore noodles waiting for him when he arrived.

“Holy shit, you’re the best, Tasha,” he said around a mouthful of food. Natasha gave him a look. “I know. I _know_ I’m an idiot, okay. But, like…” Clint stabbed the noodles with his chopsticks. “Having to tell Barney what happened… I couldn’t do it. The whole thing made me feel sick.”

Clint had _tried_ to tell his brother about what had happened. A couple times, actually. He’d typed out email messages explaining the medical discharge and what had led to it, but had never been able to send any of them off. Instead, he’d written Barney a generic message on Thanksgiving, keeping their existing email chain going as if nothing had changed.

Then he’d been shipped back home, and tried again, but it seemed really shitty to do it via email when he was actually Stateside, so Clint had deleted those messages, too. He told himself he’d visit, tell Barney in person while he and Natasha were in D.C. to see Maria Hill’s family, but chickened out instead.

Everything had felt overwhelmingly difficult while Bucky was still in the hospital, so Clint decided to wait, and then take a trip once Bucky was home. But when the happy day finally arrived, Clint used making up for lost time with Bucky as excuse to avoid talking to his brother. The longer he put it off, the more difficult it became to explain away the delay, which only made the idea of telling Barney that much worse. The cycle of avoidance meant Clint hadn't written back to Barney since arriving in New York, so it wasn’t too surprising that his brother was concerned enough to track him down.

Natasha reached over to rub his back, and Clint jumped at the unexpected contact. “Sorry.”

Since she was cool, Natasha didn’t push him to talk about it. Although, it might have had more to do with the drunkenness than kindness. He wasn’t exactly on top of his communication game. Clint tucked back into his food, staring at the TV but not watching anything that happened.

_Soak up the booze, my noodly friends._

Once eating was sorted, Clint swiped his phone off of the table, and sent a message to Bucky, attempting to explain what had happened. The result was emoji heavy, and a grammatical tragedy, but at least Bucky would know he was alive and not have to worry.

A moment later, Clint’s phone vibrated, and a heart emoji was waiting for him. “Aww.”

He turned to show Natasha, which meant he saw Bucky’s name appear on her caller ID before she answered her own phone. “Tell Bucky-boo I said hi. And I love you. _Him_ , I mean, not you. Not that I don’t love you, too, Tasha. _Natasha_. Did ya hear me? I love youuuu.”

Natasha gave him a shove, sending him flopping back onto the couch. Since he wasn’t going to be able to follow the conversation anyway, Clint took it as a sign to doze off again. The next time he opened his eyes, things were still fuzzy, but at least the double vision was gone.

“I’ll take it,” Clint mumbled to himself, gasping with delight when Natasha presented him with a cup of coffee. “Now I _really_ love you.”

A kiss was pressed against his forehead, the air around her filled with the familiar scent of Natasha’s favorite perfume. She tapped the top of his head to get his attention, then said, “The feeling is mutual.”

“Was Buck mad when you talked to him?”

Probably it was the booze, but reading the look in Natasha’s eyes was difficult. “No. He was worried about you, but not mad.”

“Damn it.”

Clint took a sip of coffee, but had to spit most of it back into the mug because it was too hot. The whole point of his existence at the moment was to be Bucky’s rock, which should have been easy, considering he’d been doing it for years. Instead, he’d managed to accomplish the exact opposite.

_Clinton Fuckup Barton strikes again._

“Why do I have to be such a human crap-sack all the time?”

Natasha gave him the stink eye. “If Bucky heard someone call you that, he’d punch them in the mouth.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed, feeling all warm and fuzzy despite everything. “Real hard, too.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but stopped, head tilting to the side. “That’s probably Barney.”

Clint watched her walk over to the intercom, nerves leaving him feeling sick. He choked down some of the coffee despite the heat, wanting the caffeine to fight the booze, then got up so he could face his brother on his feet.

And it was stupid, but as soon as the door opened and Clint saw his brother’s face, the fear and anxiety up and vanished. _Poof_ , gone. Yeah, Barney looked cranky, but not pissed off. Worried, more than anything else, which made sense. Him and Barney might not have been as close as Steve and Bucky, but they were still _family_. If their roles had been reversed, Clint wouldn’t have been mad, just happy to still have his brother alive.

“Hey, Barney,” he said. “Uh, so, we all got blown up and I’m deaf now. Sorry I didn’t—”

The words were knocked out of him by the force of Barney’s hug. Clint hugged back, blinking in an attempt to fight off his tears. It felt real good, reminded him in a lot of ways of the hug Barney had given him before he’d left for basic.

“Don’t be an ass,” Barney said, holding the sides of Clint’s face and speaking slow. “I thought you were MIA! I’m just happy to see you.”

Despite the suit and tie, Barney looked the same. They’d only seen each other a handful of times since Clint had enlisted. Mostly they emailed, or called each other on birthdays and holidays, because he lived on base when not deployed, and Barney had moved to D.C. after landing a job with the F.B.I.

Having soaked in Steve and Bucky’s relationship over the years, Clint often found himself wondering what the hell was wrong with him and Barney that they couldn’t manage to get their shit together. Steve and Bucky would never have let distance or inconvenience keep them apart.

Barney was it as far as family went. Their parents had burned bridges with their relatives back before Clint was even born, so he’d never experienced having aunts and uncles or cousins or grandparents. This also meant there was no one to take them in after the shithead who called himself their father went and smashed the ever-loving fuck out of the family car while driving drunk, killing himself and their mom in the process.

Even though he was only twelve, Barney had tried to keep their dad’s butcher’s shop going, figuring no one would care about two kids living alone as long as the bills were paid, but it turned out that wasn’t how the world worked. At least they’d wound up in the same orphanage, and despite Barney feeling entirely justified in beating the shit out of Clint if he acted up, he never let any of the other kids lay a hand on his little brother.

Steve joined the Army to save the world, Bucky had signed up to watch his brother’s back, and Clint was poor white trash who didn’t have options. Barney had been the one to suggest the military might be a viable alternative to homelessness. At first, Clint hated the idea, but being in the military couldn’t be any worse than the orphanage. He had years of experience being yelled at, beaten on, neglected, and bossed around, all _without_ the benefits of a salary and being able to shoot things. When he looked at it like that, the idea had some merit, so Clint got his GED and joined the Army.

The cool part was, Clint had been right. Basic training was exhausting, but way more fun than his childhood had been. It was like some bizarro universe where he excelled at everything. Clint had awesome reflexes, didn’t hate exercise, and was the best marksman in his group. He even out ran most of the people around him, and he _hated_ running. It was good for getting away from the cops or people wanting to kick your ass, though, so he’d gotten plenty of practice over the years.

By the time basic had wrapped up, Clint was convinced he’d made the best decision of his life. And then one Tuesday terrorists started flying planes into things, and the world as Clint knew it changed dramatically.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Barney said, giving Clint a shake. “That’s the only reason I’m not gonna beat the crap outta you.”

“Yeah, same ol’ Barney.”

Barney hugged him again, then backed up and gave Clint the once over. “Don’t go falling into the bottle like dad.”

“Man,” Clint whined, hanging his head. “The _one_ time I get drunk since coming home. Figures.”

After staring at him for a minute, Barney folded his arms across his chest. “Through the grapevine. _That’s_ how I find out my little brother was shipped back home. I even had to snoop to find your phone number.”

“Sorry.” Clint squirmed with guilt. “I got PTSD, man. I don’t always make the best choices under normal circumstances, what can I say?”

For a minute, he expected Barney to argue, but instead he nodded, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “How about you tell me what happened, and we call it even?”

Natasha and Barney properly introduced themselves, and she hooked his brother up with food while Clint returned to his coffee.

In the end, it wasn’t as hard as he’d thought it would be, walking Barney through the incident, carefully leaving out the parts that were classified. Clint’s therapist made him talk about it all the time, so he had practice. Plus, he left out all the deeply personal stuff, like the horror of watching the light fade from Bucky’s eyes, which made the topic all around easier to discuss.

Clint wasn’t sure how long he rambled, but by the time he finished, Barney was looking at him differently. There was _respect_ in his eyes, like his little brother had gone and impressed the shit out of him. Of course, Barney burst his bubble a second later by asking the worst possible question.

“What are your plans now?”

“Uh…”

Barney smiled. “Same ol’ Clint.”

“Shut up.”

“Come back to D.C. with me.”

“M’still tipsy, so my lip reading is fucked,” Clint said, squinting. “It looked like you want me to come to D.C.”

Barney frowned. “Yeah, because that’s what I said. You should be with family right now, not coping with all of this on your own. Once you’re feeling better, I could do some networking on your behalf. Are hearing aids an option? With your military service record, there’d be government jobs for the taking. You could make a nice life for yourself there.”

Clint turned to look at Natasha, needing confirmation that he wasn’t imagining things. She nodded, then raised her eyebrows.

“Um, that’s real cool, but, I, uh, kinda got a whole dream come true, serious romantic relationship thing happening right now, so moving isn’t an option.”

“What?” Barney seemed as confused by Clint’s answer as he was about his brother’s offer. “You haven’t even been home six months, how serious could it be?”

“Serious,” Clint said. “We served together and were already in love, but didn’t do anything about it until after getting blowed up.”

Barney’s entire demeanor changed, a smile lighting up his face. “Well, shit, why didn’t you say something sooner?” Barney refocused his attention on Natasha. “From the things he wrote, I always figured Clint had a crush on you. Congrats.”

“What?” Clint stammered. “Wait, no—”

“Why not think it over as a couple then? I’m positive there’d be plenty of opportunities for both of you in D.C.”

Clint scrubbed a hand through his hair, feeling embarrassed for reasons he couldn't explain. “Nope, back up, Tasha isn’t my girlfriend.”

Barney threw up his arms in exasperation. “Who is, then?”

“Bucky! I mean, he’s not my _girlfriend_ , but that’s who I’m romancing. Bucky.”

“Barnes?”

“Yeah.”

Barney sat back in his seat like someone had shoved him, face going blank. “Okay, we’re obviously dealing with drunken miscommunication here. Barnes is a man.”

“Yup.”

They stared at each other for a beat.

“ _Clint_. What the hell are you talking about? I’ve lost track of how much stupid shit you’ve done over the years for a chance to feel up a nice pair of boobs.” He shook his head, added, “No offense, Natasha.”

“Can you blame me? Boobs are awesome.” A weird sort of panic started inside of Clint, down low in his belly and working its way up to his heart at rapid speed.

“Right. That’s what I’m saying.” Barney leaned forward with his elbows braced on his knees. He looked relieved. “Not funny, Clint.”

“I wasn’t making a joke.”

Clint wasn’t exactly reassured by the “I can kill you with my eyes” look Natasha was giving his brother.

“Me and Bucky are a couple now.”

“You’re not gay,” Barney said, eyes dark with anger as he got to his feet.

“I guess bisexual would apply, if you need to label me,” Clint explained. “Chicks are hot, some guys are hot, too, and then there’s Bucky, who's the hottest person on the planet, and also my boyfriend.”

Barney sat back down, shock all over his face. “Okay. Okay. It’s a phase. You have PTSD, and—”

“It’s not a phase, dipshit, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The anger was back, Barney up on his feet again, fists clenched at his sides. “Being a faggot is the best thing to ever happen to you?” Clint watched the intensity with which his brother spat out the word. “The Army was supposed to straighten you out and toughen you up, not turn you into a goddamned queer!”

As his fist connected with his brother’s jaw, Clint found himself thinking about Bucky’s tendency to get into fights, and wondered if it felt the same for him—unavoidable and instantaneous—when _he_ lost control. Unless you knew how to read that certain look in his eyes, you’d never see it coming before Bucky decided to lash out. The violence was sudden like that, and Bucky was always oddly distant while it was happening, like there was this other person who lived in Bucky’s head and waited patiently for a chance to come out and play. _That_ guy was a violent son of a bitch. Steve turned a blind eye to it, but Clint could never look away from Bucky, so he saw it all, accepted what he saw, and loved the entirety of Bucky.

Clint didn’t go looking for fights the way Bucky did, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hold his own. It wasn’t even the first time he and Barney had fought. Hell, Barney taught him everything he knew about hitting people and making them stay down. Even when they were kids, Barney had hit like a truck, never one to pull a punch, even if it was his brother. Clint had the scars to prove it.

“Fuck you,” Clint spat, holding onto Barney’s collar while slamming his fist down into his brother’s face.

Barney was on the floor, what looked to be Natasha’s coffee table broken around him, face bloody and clothes in disarray. Clint’s eye was throbbing, and there was blood in his mouth, so Barney had gotten his own hits in, too. His knuckles hurt, and he was breathing heavy, brain lagging behind the action, leaving Clint confused as to how much time had passed.

Natasha grabbed him by the hood of his sweatshirt and yanked hard, sending him tumbling off balance. Then she got him in a headlock, and gave him a shake.

“Uncle,” Clint cried, raising his hands in surrender.

Natasha kept a hand on his shoulder while Barney climbed up off the floor, and touched his face, wincing. “You need help!”

“ _I_ need help?” Clint shouted. Natasha pushed on his shoulder, and he settled back down, fists clenched as he tried to get control of himself. “One minute you’re happy I’m alive—”

“Of course I’m happy you’re alive!”

“—the next you’re calling me a faggot!”

Barney shook his head. “There’s therapy and stuff you can do to change that, Clint.”

“Oh my god, you’re fucking _insane_ ,” Clint said, losing all hope. “There’s nothing wrong with me, Barney. Not where Bucky’s concerned. I love him. Love having sex with him, too, and I’m not apologizing for that, ever. Especially not to my _brother_ , who shouldn’t use ugly-ass hate speech to me ever again. Not if he wants to keep his teeth in his mouth.”

“Fine. When you’re ready to get your life back on track—”

Clint shook off Natasha’s hand, and stood up, arms folded across his chest. “Get the fuck out of my friend’s apartment.”

Barney actually looked surprised. “Clint—”

He wasn’t about to argue the point. Clint turned around, vaulted over the back of the couch, and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. The face looking back at him in Natasha’s mirror was already showing signs of bruising around the eye, had a split lip, and a bright red spot on one cheek.

Clint closed the lid of the toilet and sat down, legs feeling too wobbly to hold him up any longer. Even if he was shaky, at least the adrenaline had burned through some of the alcohol fog. Sniffling and fighting back tears, he dug his phone out, and sent off a text to Bucky.

_Got in a big fight with Barney. Go fig. :( Sorry I made you worry._

The little bubble appeared while Bucky worked on a reply, and it made Clint smile when it finally arrived. _Are you okay? I’m on my way. Don’t be sorry. I love you, I’ll always worry about you. You’re my Clint._

Clint looked up as Natasha entered the bathroom. She dragged her fingertips along his jaw, tilted his face up, and frowned before stroking his hair.

“That could have gone better, huh?” Clint asked, and then leaned forward, pressed his forehead against Natasha’s stomach, and had himself a good cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering everything that happens in this chapter, I probably shouldn't be so proud of/amused by Clint's drunken lip reading misunderstandings, but I am, okay? I really, really am. I wish I could say next week is full of sexy feels, but instead we're going to see Bucky's side of The Bucky and Steve Codependency Clusterfuck.
> 
> Also also? Barney Barton, FOR SHAME. Anyone who read _Deep in the Heart of Me_ now understands why Bucky was acting weird when he spotted Clint and Barney having a one-on-one on their wedding day.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard Parker is a sneak and Bucky is still a scary motherfucker. Too bad he's also a hot mess and making poor life choices. It might just be time to try a different approach and get things back on track.

“Thought you of all people would know to check the backseat before you get in a car,” Bucky said, sitting up and leaning forward.

Parker jerked in surprise, hand reaching inside of his coat for what Bucky assumed was his sidearm before his brain caught up with _who_ was sitting in his backseat and he relaxed. “Jesus fucking Christ, Barnes! _Not funny_.”

“Ain’t laughin’, am I? Hands on the steering wheel.”

“Seriously?” Richard growled, but surprisingly he did as was asked, eyes darting in their sockets before he focused on Bucky’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “What’re you off your meds or something?”

“Or somethin’,” Bucky agreed, reaching around to pluck Richard’s gun from its holster. “GLOCK 23, huh? Nice.”

Bucky watched Richard squirm and took a bit of grim satisfaction from the concern he could see creeping into Parker’s eyes. “Bucky—”

“Thought you were some kinda desk jockey these days,” Bucky interrupted, turning the pistol this way and that, getting a feel for the balance, “and yet, here you are, walkin’ around with a 40 cal tucked up under your armpit. One helluva way to defend yourself against paper cuts, Richie.”

One of Richard’s fingers twitched against the steering wheel, a tiny movement but a tell nonetheless. “Last I checked, you’re unemployed, but I’m willing to bet if I pat you down I’ll find at least one pistol and a couple of knives.”

Bucky smiled sweetly. “Guess we both like being prepared.”

“Cut the crap, Barnes. What’s this about?”

“You know what it’s about,” Bucky answered, the smile long gone.

They had a staring match in the rearview mirror. Bucky could see Parker running through scenarios in his head, trying to figure out the best way to spin things. While he considered Richard a friend, Parker had always been a touch too cloak and dagger for Bucky to trust. Classified was his middle name; the man had connections everywhere, and Bucky was willing to bet Parker had been operating under an entirely different set of objectives during the years he was out in the field with them.

“It was an _analyst_ position,” Richard said, opting not to insult Bucky's intelligence by feigning ignorance. “Nothing dangerous, hand to god. Why the hell would I go to the trouble of getting Steve out of the Army only to turn around and put him back in the line of fire?”

“Funny, I was askin’ myself the same thing.”

Parker chuckled and sighed, a dark sort of mirth visible in the reflection of his eyes. “I’m not an idiot, Barnes. Even if he was on his A-game, your brother would be the _last_ person I’d recruit for wetwork. Steve’s a patriot, not a cold blooded killer.”

“Not like me, you mean,” Bucky said with a smile. Richard swallowed, but didn’t break eye contact. “In case that was your attempt at foreplay, you should know I don’t do that anymore.”

“And yet, here you are, pointing my own gun at me from the backseat of my car,” Parker said, mimicking Bucky’s tone from earlier. “Are you sure you’re really cut out for civilian life, Barnes?”

It was a valid question, and one Bucky had asked himself more than once since leaving the Army. “Dunno, but I’m gonna give it my best shot.”

Bucky winked, and just like that, they were laughing, the tension bleeding out of the moment in the wake of Bucky’s lousy joke. Sighing, Bucky spun the pistol in his hand, presenting the grip to Richard so he could retrieve his sidearm and slide it back into its holster.

“You’re still a scary motherfucker, Barnes,” Richard said, twisting in his seat so he could face Bucky. “Listen.” Parker took a deep breath and didn’t say anything for awhile. When he finally opened his mouth again, he was all seriousness. “Steve isn’t handling the transition well and we both know it. He’s twisting in the wind, looking for a purpose. I thought… Look, I get that some of the agencies don’t have the best reputation, and that Steve’s a bit too hands-on for a desk, but the man _needs_ a mission. It’s the only way he’s getting through this alive.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched hard enough to hurt his teeth. “I know.”

“I won’t bring it up again, and if Steve changes his mind and asks, I’ll tell him the offer has expired,” Richard said after a moment, an odd, vulnerable look in his eyes. “I’m worried about him, Barnes.”

“Me too,” Bucky managed, throat going tight. “I can't have him findin’ out, Richard.”

“About what?”

Parker stared at Bucky intently and shook his head, one finger tapping against his ear while the other pressed against his lips in the universal signal for shut the fuck up. Bucky had wondered if the car might be bugged. The confirmation of his suspicions on that front eliminated any lingering doubts as to the true nature of Parker's employment.

“This talk we’re havin’,” Bucky answered, not missing a beat. The C.I.A. wasn’t exactly Steve’s style, but if he thought one of his friends needed backup, that might be all it took to change his mind. From the look in his eyes, Bucky was pretty sure Richard had read between the lines. “Can't imagine he'd approve of my tactics.”

“Probably not.” That was definitely relief in Parker's eyes. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Bucky wanted nothing to do with whatever Parker had gotten himself into. He had to assume there was a good reason the man was operating out of New York and pretending to be a paper pusher. Blowing his cover wasn’t going to get Bucky anything except a whole new set of problems. Still, he couldn’t help but think of his welcome home party and Mary’s announcement. Richard was a sneaky fucker, but he loved his wife. It was hard to imagine him keeping her in the dark when they had something like a _kid_ looming on the horizon.

“Thanks for that. And sorry. I know you and Mary are just tryin’ to help Stevie get back on his feet like the rest of us.”

Parker’s smile was grim. “She’s as _worried_ as I am,” he said, answering the question Bucky couldn’t ask.

Mary signing off on Richard’s shitty career choice was one thing, but if she was _also_ working for the Company, that changed things significantly. A chill ran through Bucky, questions bubbling up in his mind, one after the other. How long had they been working with the CIA? Was the pregnancy part of their cover? How the hell would Steve react when he found out what they were up to?

“Tell her I said thanks, but he's done with any job that involves gettin’ within a hundred feet of a gun. Stevie needs somethin’ pure and simple, like rescuing kittens from trees.”

“I’m sure if we all put our heads together we can figure something out,” Richard said. “For now, keep an eye on him, okay?”

“Yeah, already way ahead of you. I moved him in with me and Clint.”

Parker’s eyes went wide. “Well, then, I guess the honeymoon’s over?” Bucky flipped him off. “Hey, as much as I’m enjoying our chat, I need to get to the office. Paperwork doesn’t handle itself, and I didn’t exactly factor _this_ into my morning commute.”

“To be continued, then.”

Bucky clapped Richard on the shoulder before sliding out of the backseat of the car and slamming the door shut behind him. The sound echoed strangely in the parking garage, sending another chill coursing through Bucky’s body. He tapped against the driver’s side window, eyes scanning their surroundings.

“I know you’re retired, but do me a favor and be a little more paranoid,” Bucky said, nodding toward the now vacant backseat of Richard’s car. “New York’s a rough town, and you got a kid on the way.”

Parker’s expression was serious when he extended his hand through the open car window for Bucky to shake, but that didn’t do much to put Bucky’s mind at ease as he watched his friend drive off. There wasn’t anything he could do about Parker’s situation, though, aside from making certain Steve didn’t follow in Richard’s footsteps.

Bucky spent a day or two arguing with himself before coming to the decision to tell Clint what he’d learned. Privacy was in short supply, and he didn’t want to risk Steve walking in on the conversation, so Bucky opted to corner Clint in the shower. In retrospect, it was another of those things that he’d have handled differently if given the chance, because Clint had expected Bucky had other, more logical reasons for wanting to be wet and naked with his boyfriend. He tried and failed to hide his disappointment, which became a lot easier once Clint found out how Bucky had come about the information.

“What if you'd gotten shot?” Clint demanded, but the effect was somewhat ruined by shampoo suds running down the side of his face.

“Sweetheart, I might be down an arm, but we both know I can still handle myself."

“That’s not the _point_ , you fuckin’ idiot!” Clint rinsed his hair, glowering all the while.

"It was _Parker_. I was only provin' a point. It ain't like either of us is gonna shoot the other." Bucky reached for Clint but had his hand swatted aside. "I never even had to take out the gun!”

“Gee, I guess everything's cool then," Clint said in a sarcastic sing-song tone of voice. "What if you’d been caught hiding in his back seat? Last I checked, you’re still waiting on a permit to carry, and you sure as shit didn’t ask permission before leaving home with _my_ gun.”

Which was fair. “It won’t happen again.”

“You know what? That’s starting to get old.”

To make it perfectly clear he was pissed, Clint stepped out of the shower and then reached back inside to turn off the hot water, so that a wall of cold slammed into Bucky. He also spent the rest of the afternoon with his hood up and his mouth firmly shut, ignoring Bucky’s attempts to apologize or continue the conversation.

But all of that had been _before_ , back in the beginning when Bucky was still energized by the idea of helping Steve, convinced his brother would come around once he was dragged back into the land of the living. All he needed was to course-correct Steve, and then he and Clint could pick up where they’d left off. Simple, right?

Not so simple, turned out. Steve was always at his best when he had a routine, so Bucky’s first step had been to drag his brother into his own. It was good, because it meant Steve left the apartment, got to meet the neighbors, and soak in a sense of community. It was also bad, because Steve’s inclusion somehow led to Clint’s _exclusion_.

Staying glued to his brother’s side reinforced the idea that Steve was _needed_ , which was of vital importance, but Bucky wasn’t blind. He could tell Clint was upset over the changes taking place in the household. Bucky hated knowing he was the reason Clint was quieter, but realistically, there was only so much time and energy at his disposal. He needed to operate in triage mode; Clint was stable and Steve was bleeding out, so Bucky didn’t have much of a choice when it came to prioritizing between the two of them.

That didn't mean Bucky was comfortable with what was happening. Day after day, he found himself sorting through a growing collection of regrets, wishing he’d handled things differently. Most of the time he was able to convince himself they’d have wound up in the exact same place anyway, but it was hard to forget the look that had been in Clint’s eyes when he called Bucky out on taking the choice away from him. It was impossible not to feel all of the ways in which he was letting Clint down in order to lift Steve up.

Thanks to the new dynamic in the household, Bucky found himself hyper aware and on edge when the three of them were together, torn between what his heart wanted and what his mind told him was necessary if Steve was going to get better. It wasn’t like he was keeping Clint at arms length, but at the same time, Steve was still adjusting to the idea of them as a couple, so Bucky had to be careful with displays of affection, worried Steve would feel like he was intruding, and decide to move out.

The balancing act meant Bucky couldn’t relax. He had to be vigilant even when cuddling on the couch, because his natural inclination was to burrow closer and closer, to nuzzle Clint’s neck, kiss his jaw, and tell Clint he loved him about a hundred times over the course of an evening. Under normal circumstances, one or the other of them would start with the groping until they wound up tangled together, kissing and stroking and…

Anything like that was off the menu if Steve was home, and even if he wasn’t, there was no telling when he’d return.

In a lot of ways, it was like when he’d first started bringing girls home in his early teens. There was always a dad around to supervise, make sure no hanky-panky took place on their watch. The most Bucky could expect was snuggling, innocent kisses that couldn’t go anywhere, and maybe, if he was lucky, some kissing with tongue during the two whole minutes of privacy he and his girl were given at the end of the evening while saying goodbye. Of course, back then he’d been able to go up to his room afterwards, lock the door, and work out his sexual frustration with some lotion, his left hand, and a dirty magazine.

If his situation was a little less dire, Bucky would have been walking around with a 24/7 hardon for Clint, and using every second of private time they had rubbing up on his boyfriend. Unfortunately—like everything else in Bucky’s life—sex had become complicated. Some frottage in the shower. A frantic blowjob exchange one afternoon while Steve was out grocery shopping. Once or twice, he and Clint had gone at it in the dark while Steve was hopefully asleep downstairs, but it wasn’t nearly as fun as Bucky had convinced himself it could be.

“It’s creepy, man,” Clint told him the next time they were alone, hangdog expression in full effect. “I can’t tell if we’re being loud, or if Steve’s awake, and I can’t see what I’m doing, or what _you’re_ doing. It sucks, and not in the fun way.”

Even if Clint _had_ enjoyed stealth fucking once the lights went out, after a week or two of living with his brother, Bucky wouldn’t have been in a position to get it on anyway. Apparently being woken in the dead of night by Steve screaming like he was being murdered had an impact on _Bucky’s_ ability to sleep. Or feel sexy. Or function in any meaningful way. Go figure.

The first time it happened, Bucky had acted on autopilot, rolling out of bed, grabbing Clint’s gun, and rushing downstairs without bothering to put on clothes. Steve had been confused to wake up and find his brother standing over him armed and naked. It could have been hilarious if the asshole hadn’t _also_ pretended that everything was fine and dandy.k

Rather than picking up on Bucky’s not-so-subtle suggestions that antidepressants and therapy might help him sleep through the night, Steve opted to avoid sleep for as long as physically possible. This meant Bucky found himself either staying up late, or falling asleep alone on the couch while waiting for Steve to come home from one of his runs. When Clint managed to lure him up into bed at a reasonable time, Bucky would just spend hours staring into the darkness, listening for his brother to return, or for the telltale sounds of him whimpering in his sleep. Would then head downstairs to welcome or wake Steve, depending upon the circumstances.

More than once he'd caught Steve passing out from exhaustion in the middle of the day, his body shutting down and forcing him to sleep whether he wanted it to happen or not. Steve might be drawing, or even in the middle of a semi-coherent conversation, and then _click_ , he was out, like someone had pulled his plug. Bucky stuck close when that happened, watched over his brother all while feeling the worst kind of helpless.

Nothing Bucky did or said made a difference. Steve refused to acknowledge there was a problem, let alone talk to anyone about what had happened. Bucky tried anyway, but pushing on that front led to all of Steve’s walls coming up, followed by him disappearing for long stretches of time. When that happened, Bucky drove himself crazy with what if scenarios, sick with anxiety as he waited for Steve to come home or for the cops to show up and tell him they’d found a body. At least if Bucky played along and pretended everything was fine, Steve stayed put, so that was the way it went.

Bucky was consumed by his need to help Steve, but there was Clint to worry about, too. Walking into Natasha’s apartment to find a bruised and battered Clint frowning into a mug of coffee would have sucked any way you sliced it, but mostly it was a wake up call. Bucky had been telling himself that Clint was stable, but the truth was he’d been growing increasingly withdrawn _before_ Barney showed up to dump a pile of rejection and homophobic bullshit into his lap.

And again, Bucky found himself in a situation that made him feel helpless.

“ _Don’t_.”

“What? I’m not—”

Clint glared. “Barney works with the Feds, Buck. If he wanted, he could make problems for me over assaulting him, never mind the ass deserving a punch in the mouth. If you go getting involved, there’s no telling what he’ll do.” Clint paused to point to his bruised face. “He wasn’t exactly happy to find out I’m fucking a dude. If the guy in question shows up and threatens him? He’s not Parker. Barney won’t laugh it off.”

“He can’t just—”

“Promise,” Clint had demanded, jaw tight as he signed.

The look in his eyes said it all. If Bucky refused, or if he turned around and broke this promise, it wasn’t going to be good. So, as much as it burned away at Bucky from the inside, he’d somehow found the strength to reply.

“I promise, baby,” he signed back, then spent the rest of the night doing the best he could to comfort the love of his life.

What he wanted was to track Barney down and make him regret ever laying a finger on Clint. That the promise was so difficult to keep said a lot about Bucky’s own state of well being. Bucky knew he had a temper and what some would consider a violent streak to him. He’d been that way for as long as he could remember. Most of the time he could keep himself in check, but the ever present anger and frustration Bucky was carrying around meant it had evolved into a daily—if not _hourly_ —struggle. The rage boiled up in Bucky whenever he saw the bruises on Clint’s perfect face, or on his knuckles, and that protective, possessive part of him begged for a chance to be let loose on Barney fuckhead Barton.

Mostly, though, Bucky was mad at himself. The guilt was eating away at his foundations; he and Clint had been building something beautiful together before Bucky had taken it for granted, acting like he could simply hit _pause_ on their relationship without there being consequences. It sucked. Worse than sucked. He and Clint had drifted away from each other in ways that scared the everloving shit out of Bucky. Clint needed Bucky’s love and support more than ever, but Bucky was running on fumes, and letting him down, too.

Fear, helplessness, anger, depression. Not exactly a recipe for a healthy, happy homelife. And as an added bonus, despite the physical therapy, Bucky’s phantom limb pain wasn't improving. Never knowing when it would happen or how long it would last was almost worse than the pain itself. When it had been just the two of them, Bucky would curl up against Clint's chest while it was happening, be rocked and held tight, have soothing words whispered into his hair as he struggled through the pain.

Considering he had trouble dealing with Bucky's empty left sleeve, it wasn't too surprising that Steve couldn't cope with watching his brother writhe in agony because of the missing limb. Now, when the pain came for him, Bucky hid in the bathroom and roughed it out on his own. Clint had figured out what he was doing and made it clear he disapproved, but Bucky didn't feel like he had any choice in the matter. He could either suffer alone, or suffer while making Steve sick with dread and guilt. Either way, he was still suffering, so it seemed better to contain the fallout.

It felt like everything in his life was spiraling out of control. He was stressed and exhausted and _depressed_. His half a pack a day habit had morphed into two packs a day, which was as expensive as it was disgusting. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he'd been sliding on the little things, like eating or shaving or dressing like he gave a fuck. Bucky knew he needed help, so he asked for it. _Constantly_. Not from Steve or Clint, but from his therapist. And all he got in return was another source of stress in his life, to the extent that Bucky was starting to think Steve was right about therapy being a goddamn waste of time.

Dr. Zemo had all sorts of fancy credentials framed and hanging on his walls, so at least Bucky had something to glare at while fantasizing about killing the man. He was convinced Zemo thought he was too fucking stupid to comprehend his own thoughts and feelings. This meant Bucky’s _actual_ problems—of which there were many—weren’t up for discussion. It was all about the arm for Zemo, nothing more, nothing less. Bucky’s repeated assertions that he’d come to terms with it, but could really use some help figuring out how to put the rest of his life back together didn’t count for shit.

Zemo was the reason why Bucky was standing outside his own front door, shaking with anger and frustration, struggling to get his game face firmly in place before heading into the apartment. The absence of barking when he finally opened the door meant Lucky wasn’t there, and disappointment hit Bucky hard, right up until he spotted Clint, and realized Steve must have taken Lucky out for a walk.

Being glad Steve wasn't home made Bucky feel guilty, no two ways about it, but there was no point in pretending he wasn’t relieved. He needed to regroup before he was going to be in any kind of shape to withstand the emotional and psychological onslaught that was spending time with his brother.

Clint hadn’t noticed Bucky’s arrival. He was slumped into one corner of the couch, head turned so he could stare out the windows, the hood of his purple sweatshirt pulled up, and his hands shoved deep in his pockets. A sketchbook was open on the table in front of the couch, but the pages appeared blank—never a good sign—and Clint was using it as a coaster for a steaming mug of coffee.

Bucky couldn’t look away or bring himself to move in order to make his presence known. Like every time he put eyes on Clint, Bucky was left with a mix of lovesick adoration, pride, and possessiveness. Clint wasn’t exactly on the top of the self-esteem heap, so the most observant person Bucky knew tended not to notice how often people checked him out. Bucky noticed. That weird, animalistic part of his brain got all bristley over it, left him wanting to bare his teeth and snarl at anyone letting their eyes linger too long. The rest of Bucky wanted to gloat, because out of everyone in the whole wide world, Clint had picked _him_ to fall in love with.

As Bucky drank in the way the sunlight played across Clint’s stubbled jaw and the bits of pale hair sticking out from under his hoodie, he couldn’t help but want to cry. Clint, like Bucky, wasn’t one for letting people see how he was really feeling unless he was happy, but since he thought he was alone, it was all right out there in the open, from the expression on his face to the slump of his shoulders. Clint was _miserable_ and Bucky was positive he was the reason why.

Well, Bucky was miserable, too, so at least they were still a matched set. It felt like _months_ since they’d last been together, even though it’d only been hours. How the hell was it you could miss someone _so much_ , even when you lived with them and saw them every day?

“Could you maybe stop staring at me?” Clint asked, making Bucky jump with surprise.

“Sorry.” Bucky winced once his brain caught up with his mouth. Clint hadn’t bothered to turn around, so he was still facing the windows. After ditching his coat, Bucky marched over to the couch and planted himself in front of Clint. “Sorry,” he signed, “you’re too damn pretty, can’t help but stare.”

Clint rolled his eyes, but he was smiling when he leaned over to brush his lips against Bucky’s in what passed for a kiss these days. Bucky chased after his mouth, scoring a proper kiss, peering into Clint’s eyes all the while. Sad, sad, _sad_ , and so Bucky stayed put, nuzzling at Clint’s mouth and stroking behind his ear, trying to offer comfort and an apology without using words.

“How was therapy?” Clint asked with his hands once Bucky pulled away.

Bucky almost said _okay_ out of habit, but he was sick of putting on a brave front. They’d promised each other they’d be honest, way back when, and there they were, being stupid instead.

“Fuckin’ awful,” Bucky admitted, watching Clint’s eyes go wide.

“Whoa, what the hell happened?”

Weeks of built up frustration and anger made Bucky’s heart start racing, the words jumbling together to lodge in the back of his throat. Where the hell was he supposed to start? This was why he’d wanted them to be honest with each other in the first place. Not that any of it was Clint’s fault. No, it was _all_ Bucky and they both knew it. Clint was only following his lead and trying to watch his back, same as always.

“Guess you already know I broke our promise,” Bucky said, vision swimming as he blinked back tears. “I been downplayin’ shit. Keepin’ things to myself.”

For some crazy reason, Bucky expected Clint’s angry face to make an appearance, but it didn’t happen. “Yeah, I figured,” Clint signed, wearing a sad little smile. “Me too. At least we’re both dumb.”

It wasn’t funny, but Bucky laughed anyway, hanging his head for a second before looking up into Clint’s eyes—really looking into them—in a way that didn’t happen enough now that they had a roommate. “Nah, baby. _I’m_ the dumb one.”

“So knock it off,” Clint signed with a shrug. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Bucky opened his mouth, hand shaking too much to sign effectively, surprised by what popped out. “I’m scared I’m gonna kill him.” Clint sat up straighter, but he didn’t freak out. “Asshole won’t ever let me talk about what’s eatin’ at me,” Bucky said. “He claims I’m going outta my way to stir up drama so I don’t have to face up to the reality of losin’ my arm.”

Clint’s face scrunched up in confusion. “What? That’s stupid.”

“That’s what I said! I had plenty of time back in the hospital to ‘face up’ to it being gone. Besides, half the time it feels like someone’s rippin’ or burnin’ the thing off! That ain’t exactly somethin’ you can ignore.”

“Aw, Buck.” Clint opened his arms. “C’mere.”

As much as he wanted to let Clint pull him into a hug, Bucky couldn’t stop, not now that he’d finally opened his mouth and started talking. “I swear, he ain’t right in the head, Clint. I bet he jerks off to recordings of his patients’ sessions.”

“He’s that bad?” Clint asked, incredulous.

“I _begged_ Zemo to help me, and when that didn’t work I tried playin’ along thinkin’ maybe if I spent a session or two talkin’ about the arm he might let me actually move on to the shit that’s keepin’ me up at night, instead. Nope. Now this fucker wants to do hypnotherapy!”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, one of his violent little daydreams swimming up to the surface of his mind, as comforting as it was disturbing. Bucky compulsively checked himself before going to therapy these days, worried that if he had his knife on him, he’d find himself using it on Zemo before his higher brain functions had time to kick in. Getting arrested for murder wasn’t exactly going to simplify his life.

When he opened his eyes again, Bucky found Clint watching him intently, one hand extended. Just like back when he’d been trapped in a hospital bed, Bucky reached out, wrapped his fingers around Clint’s wrist, and that bit of contact alone had him feeling more centered than he had in weeks.

“He can’t _force_ you to get hypnotized,” Clint pointed out.

“Yeah, well, tell _him_ that,” Bucky said, swallowing down a fresh wave of anger. “My physical therapist said they’re running outta options. The drugs don’t do shit, we’ve fucked around with mirrors, and electrical stimulation, and…” Bucky needed to stop and take a deep breath. “There’s this new prosthetic program that started up last year. So far, they’ve got a high success rate in eliminating _all pain_.”

Clint brightened up a bit. “That’s good news, right?”

“It ain’t that easy. There’s surgery involved, and testing, because only certain people are good candidates. We’re talkin’ sci-fi shit, baby, as in a bionic _replacement_ arm. You have to check off all these boxes to qualify, like havin’ unmanageable pain. My doc wants me tested to see if I can get on the waiting list, but I need a sign off from my therapist first. And Zemo refuses to sign it, ‘cause he’s convinced it ain’t _real_ phantom limb pain, it’s psychological.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Clint sat up straighter, the anger all there in his eyes.

Bucky nodded. “The idea of lettin’ him hypnotize me makes me sick, but he ain’t signin’ shit unless I do.” A wave of helplessness washed over Bucky. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Clint. You’ve had arguments with your therapist, but you’re still gettin’ _somethin’_ out of it, right?”

“Uh,” Clint opened his mouth, then glanced over his shoulder as if to make sure they were still alone, “we argue sometimes, but mostly ‘cause she’s right, and I know it. Pretty sure I wouldn’t be getting out of bed if it wasn’t for her. The pills help, too, but...”

Clint lowered his eyes as he spoke, and there was that awful, unwelcome feeling of distance again. Bucky stroked the inside of Clint’s wrist before giving his hand a little shake, prompting him to look up.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Bucky said, voice cracking. He’d known it was bad, but... “I fucked up our happily ever after.”

“Buck—”

“It’s true, and we both know it,” Bucky insisted, finally losing his fight against the tears. Clint had the puppy dog eyes in full effect, but that was better than watching him pretend to be happy when he wasn’t. “We had a real good thing and I ruined it. I miss you so fuckin’ much, it’s killin’ me, Clint. I _hate_ this. I just want things to go back to the way they—”

A strange, desperate sort of sound escaped from somewhere deep within Bucky as Clint surged forward to cut off his words with a kiss. “Me too,” Clint said into Bucky’s mouth before pulling him into a hug. “You didn’t ruin anything, Buck. I love you, okay? I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure this out together, I promise.”

And for the first time in a long time, Bucky let himself hope. Let himself be broken open by all the thoughts and fears and feelings that had been trapped inside. Held on tight, breathing Clint in while crying in his arms. Clint rocked him gently, nose tucked into Bucky’s hair, solid and real and everything Bucky had ever wanted out of life.

Sniffling, Bucky squirmed his way free so Clint could read his lips, but didn’t let go, kept his hand curled around Clint’s wrist like his life depended on it. “I love you,” Bucky said, taking a deep breath. “I swear, I didn’t know it’d be like _this_. I thought I was gonna be able to help Steve. But I _can’t_. I can’t even help myself, and I’m hurtin’ you, too. I hate it. What the fuck do I do, Clint?”

Clint cupped Bucky’s cheek, his hand warm as he brushed aside tears with his thumb. “Well, what we’ve been doing ain’t working, that’s for sure.”

“No, not so much,” Bucky agreed, laughing despite everything.

“Okay. We gotta stick to our promises, for one thing. No more pretending things are good when they’re a mess.” Bucky nodded his agreement. “Tasha says it’s super unhealthy that we’ve let Steve’s problems take over our lives. I know this sucks, but um, maybe… uh, maybe we focus on fixing some of our own shit for right now.”

Whether or not it was logical, everything that made Bucky who he was wanted to reject the suggestion outright. Steve was his _brother_. Steve _needed_ Bucky’s help. End of story.

Clint must have seen the conflict in Bucky’s eyes, because he added, “I’m not saying we kick him out, or anything.”

“Then what?” Bucky spat, wincing even though Clint wouldn’t be able to hear his tone of voice. “Shit, I’m sorry. I just… It’s _Stevie_. I been tryin’ to take care of that kid for twenty years now. I don’t know how else to operate!”

“Look,” Clint said, a tremor in his voice, “I get he’s the most important person in the world to you, okay? I’m deaf, not blind. Steve’s not blind either. He’s probably noticed you’re going off the rails, and he’s gonna blame _himself_ for that. Seeing you take better care of yourself can’t make things worse at this point, right? Lead by example, for fuck’s sake!”

Bucky let the words wash over him, feeling torn down the middle again. For as long as he could remember, Steve had held that all important position in Bucky’s life, but hearing Clint say as much sounded all kinds of _wrong_. The incident had shifted Bucky’s world off its axis, cleared away the bullshit. Scary as it was to think about, Bucky was pretty sure he could survive anything—even losing Steve—as long as he still had Clint. If he lost _Clint_ , though…

Clint was watching him like he was worried Bucky was going to run out of the room, and all of it made Bucky want to have another crying jag. Using words to convince Clint _he_ was really the most important person to Bucky would be a waste of time. Bucky’s actions were to blame for Clint’s conclusions in the first place. He needed to start acting like they were _partners—_ actually prioritize their relationship—if he wanted to change Clint’s mind.

“Okay,” Bucky said, heart racing. “Lead by example. Makes sense.”

Clint’s eyebrows crept upward. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, feeling almost dizzy with relief. “I mean, how the hell am I s’posed to convince the idiot he needs therapy if he sees me gettin’ worse while doin’ it? There’s gotta be… I dunno, some kinda process for firing your shrink. Right?”

“Definitely,” Clint said, a hopeful sort of look in his pretty blue eyes. “The dickhead wasn’t appointed to you by the courts or anything. We get you a new doc ASAP, and figure out how to report the fucker so he doesn’t do this shit to someone else.”

And just like that, Bucky was smiling. “Good plan.”

“Jayla told me Paul’s buddy runs a couple different support groups. Some are for family of people with PTSD. She went back when Paul first came home. I was gonna check it out, but,” Clint gestured toward one of his ears and shrugged. “Kinda makes it tough to hide in the back of the room and listen.”

Bucky swallowed past the lump in his throat. “We could go together,” he signed. “I’ll interpret for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Pretty sure this whole conversation we’re havin’ illustrates how wrong I’m goin’ about handlin’ Steve’s PTSD, so… _Yeah_. Let’s go. Hell, maybe the guy runnin’ things can recommend a shrink I won’t wanna stab?”

“Here’s hoping,” Clint agreed. He held Bucky’s gaze for a beat. “Just so we’re crystal clear, I know you were serious before about the murder thing. Still love you.”

“Love you, too, Clint.” Bucky took a shuddering breath. “I wouldn’t do that to us, though.”

“I know.”

Slowly, as if worried Bucky might not appreciate the proximity, Clint climbed onto Bucky’s lap. Oddly enough, feeling Clint’s weight settle down on top of him left Bucky feeling lighter. He reached for Clint, cupped his jaw, pulled him into a kiss, and let himself be swept up in love and acceptance. In a perfect world, they’d be able to keep going, spend the rest of the afternoon talking and making out and groping each other. Fuck right there on the couch like the good old days, maybe order a pizza after. Only problem was, Bucky had no idea when Steve was going to crash the party.

Ending the kiss was difficult, but Bucky managed to do it, hiding his face against the side of Clint’s neck while holding on as best he could with the one arm. Clint’s fingers threaded through Bucky’s hair, sending chills racing up and down his spine in the process. Clint was warm like sunshine and smelled amazing. Holding him close—feeling that connection again—was a goddamned gift.

Bucky leaned back so Clint could read his lips. “Let’s go on a date,” he said, the idea coming to him in a flash.

A goofy smile crept onto Clint’s face. “What, like get all dressed up and stuff?”

“Yeah, like that. Whaddya say? Me, you, a nice restaurant, maybe some dancin’?”

“Okay,” Clint said, nodding slowly, as if the idea was growing on him. He pushed back the hood of his sweatshirt, leaving his hair sticking up every which way, and Bucky's heart lurched in response, like it wanted to get closer to Clint. “Can we go to the range instead of dancing? We can shoot the targets in the heart to make it romantic.”

“Whatever you want, darlin’, as long as it’s just the two of us.”

Clint's lopsided smile was a sight for sore eyes. Bucky watched as Clint dragged his knuckles along his stubbled jaw, and wanted to do the same, only with his teeth and tongue. “I'm gonna go shave,” Clint said. “I can shave you, too, if you want.”

“That your way of saying I look scruffy?”

“Hot as fuck, more like,” Clint huffed. “S’up to you, I don’t mind either way.”

“A shave sounds real nice.”

Clint climbed off the couch and pulled Bucky to his feet, wrapping him up tight in his arms rather than going anywhere. Bucky hugged back, stole another kiss, and then followed Clint upstairs so they could get ready for their date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats on using your words, Bucky! I couldn't resist making Zemo Bucky's (first) therapist. Seriously, though, don't give up on the idea of therapy if there's a clash between you and your therapist. Most of the time it takes at least a couple tries before you find someone that is a good match for you. And sometimes you grow out of that relationship, even if it was good at the beginning. Anywayyyyyyy~! Things will start looking up a bit now. ;D


	13. Chapter 13

Bucky’s head tipped back as he laughed, and even though he couldn’t hear the sound it made, Clint _felt_ it, drank it in with his eyes, let it warm him up from the inside. He even joined in, snorting into his coffee when Natasha responded by leaning across their kitchen island to smack Bucky’s forehead.

“If you don’t stop moving, I’m going to pack it up and leave.” Natasha’s smile made it clear the threat was real.

“C’mon, my arm was still,” Bucky swore, sitting up straighter. Tasha arched an eyebrow and Bucky’s expression immediately shifted to repentant. “Sorry! No more wigglin’, honest.”

Natasha fired her tattoo gun up once more, but paused above Bucky’s skin, as if she still had doubts. Bucky’s mouth fell open in dismay, eyes all wide and pleading, and after a moment Natasha took pity on him and continued working.

Someone said something that made Natasha smile one of her genuine smiles—not to be confused with her _dangerous_ smiles—but since he’d been preoccupied with staring at Bucky, Clint had no idea who was responsible. A quick glance around the room left him almost positive Sam was the guilty party, but there was always a chance it had been Steve. That was how being with a group of people worked for Clint now; couldn’t watch everyone at once, so he was always going to miss something.

The familiar sadness tugged at Clint’s heart, but he shrugged it off best he could. No one was _trying_ to exclude him. Hell, even though his sign language vocabulary was limited, Steve did his best to use ASL whenever he could, and Sam always made sure Clint would be able to read his lips when they were together. Of course, none of that mattered if Clint was too busy staring at Bucky to notice, and considering what was happening, it was kind of hard to look away from the guy.

Bucky was occupying one of the kitchen stools, his arm resting atop a portion of the island that had been covered in plastic wrap, palm facing the ceiling, the sleeve of his gray thermal shirt pushed up over his bicep. Natasha had been at it for a couple hours, so the previously naked skin of Bucky’s forearm was now covered in ink and blood.

The tattoo was great and all, but it was more Bucky himself that had Clint’s attention. For the first time in a long time, Bucky looked happy, healthy, and at ease. The dark circles were long gone and the haunting blankness was nowhere to be found in his eyes. The stubble he was rocking looked intentionally sexy, rather than psycho-killer, and Bucky’s hair was finally long enough for most of it to stay tucked behind his ears properly.

Better yet, Bucky had been all smiles since waking up that morning. Clint got to feel the very first smile of the day when Bucky snuggled up close to press it between his shoulder blades. This had been followed by a kiss, and then another, Bucky slowly working his way up to the sensitive spot behind Clint’s ear and nuzzling.

It wasn’t even a one off or anything. Smiles were becoming the norm again, along with Bucky sticking around in the mornings. Sometimes—like that morning, for example—they even managed to get in some hanky-panky before Steve and Lucky returned from their morning constitutional. And on the days there wasn’t time for anything X-rated, it was still cool, because Bucky was _there_ , curled around Clint, all warm and snuggly, which was a pretty stellar way to start the day.

_Blowjobs, though. That's the real breakfast of champions._

Thinking of their early morning romp made Clint sigh into his mug, prompting Bucky to look away from Natasha’s work, those baby blues of his flashing when he found Clint watching him like a lovesick dope.

_Hello, beautiful boyfriend._

Bucky’s answering smile was something else, made Clint’s stomach all fluttery with happiness and longing. Clint responded to the not-so-subtle tilting of Bucky’s chin, leaning in to press a kiss against those soft lips, following it up with another before settling back into his seat.

“Stop bein’ all adorable and gropeable when I’m not allowed to move,” Bucky said, blowing him another kiss. “It ain’t fair.”

Clint shrugged. “Might as well ask the sun to stop shining, Buck.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Clint caught Natasha pressing her lips together in an attempt to suppress her smile, while Sam waved to get his attention. “Honestly, man, I need to know. Did you two just _schmoop_ the enemy into surrendering, or what?”

Bucky grinned, eyes crinkling up at the corners. “Nah, we weren’t that bad before.”

Natasha turned off the tattoo machine again, her expression very much saying, “Are you fucking kidding me,” even though her mouth remained firmly closed.

Beside her, Steve stood up a little straighter and folded his arms across his chest. “Bullshit,” he said, which Clint found kind of hilarious, considering what he’d learned about Steve’s initial reaction to the two of them finally figuring their shit out.

Steve had focused his attention on Clint. “What was that godawful song about you and Bucky making a humvee bounce?”

There Bucky went, head tipped back again, entire body shaking with laughter. Clint felt his face go hot with embarrassment, but the sensation slid away, mostly because Bucky’s cheeks were all pink, too, and he was smiling at Clint like he was the luckiest guy in the world as he said, “Shit, I forgot about that one.”

“Congratulations. Some of us were traumatized for life.” Steve’s expression was deadpan, but Clint was pretty sure the complaint wasn’t serious. It was trickier picking up on his brand of humor when you couldn’t hear. “I shit you not, Sam, whenever we headed out in a humvee, someone would start singing that. For a _year_ , at least.”

Natasha pretended to use the back of her tattoo gun as a microphone and Clint had to assume she was singing. “Buck, please let me stick my key in your ignition, babe, so I can get this thing started and get rollin', babe. See, I'll be doin' about 80 on your freeway. Bucky, I won't stop until I drive you crazy.”

Clint hung his head for a minute, laughing to himself, and by the time he looked up, Bucky and Natasha were singing together, “'Cause we up in this humvee, we foggin' up the windows,” while Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and Sam wiped tears from his eyes.

“No you did _not_ sing R. Kelly to this man,” Sam said, grabbing Bucky by the shoulders and shaking him.

“Guilty,” Clint admitted, long past the point of embarrassment. “What can I say? My pipes were popular. I used to get requests.”

Natasha grinned ear to ear. “Clint’s right. Steve was the only one traumatized.”

“Because we were in the shower,” Steve clarified, throwing his hands up in the air for emphasis. “I was trying to get clean, and all of his songs were about having sex with _my brother_.”

“Hey, they were good songs,” Bucky said, smiling innocently.

“Who cares? The last thing I want to hear while I’m naked is Clint singing about you licking his lollipop.” Sam doubled up with laughter, holding onto Steve as if worried he’d fall over. Cap’s put upon expression slipped momentarily, revealing the smile beneath the stern exterior. “Or spankings, or milkshakes, or any of the rest of it,” he added, setting Sam off again.

“Sorry.” Clint finished his coffee and shrugged. “Had to deal with all that unresolved sexual tension somehow, Cap.”

When he glanced at Bucky, Clint’s heart gave another happy lurch over what he saw waiting for him in Bucky's eyes. Never ever was he going to get sick of seeing that mix of lust and love, knowing it was all for him and him alone. Unable to help himself, Clint slid off of his stool and wrapped his arms around Bucky, hugging him from behind.

“You see these shackles, Bucky, I’m your slave,” he sang softly against Bucky’s ear, making him shake with laughter.

Clint planted a big wet kiss on Bucky's neck before heading to the sink to deposit his emptied mug. Sam held his hand up for a high five along the way, and Clint didn’t leave him hanging.

“I should have listened. Paul and Jayla warned me y’all were too much,” Sam said, shaking his head. He took Bucky by the shoulders again, squeezing. “No lie, Barton, your boy’s whole face transforms every time he talks about you.”

Bucky beamed up at Sam like he was a gift. Not that long ago, it would have been the kind of thing to make Clint want to pull his hood up and hide for awhile. Bucky had a big time man-crush on Sam Wilson, no two ways about it, but Clint couldn’t really blame him. Even if Sam wasn’t made of awesome—which he totally was—Clint would have loved him, too, for having pulled Bucky out of the psychological nose dive he’d been in.

Paul had given them Sam’s contact info, then reached out on their behalf to arrange a meet up. About five minutes into Bucky describing the issues he was having with Zemo, Sam had been all, “Oh, hells no,” which was pretty much exactly what Bucky needed to hear. He’d also put together a list of a half dozen other shrinks for Bucky to interview, and given him and Clint a bunch of good advice for determining whether or not a doctor was the right fit.

Because of Sam, Bucky was working with someone new, a guy who actually listened and cared and the result was _epic_. Xavier had reevaluated Bucky from the top down, doing everything from recommending changes to his medications to suggesting he stop letting his amputation keep him from heading back to the gym, or the gun range.

Since Xavier wasn’t a crazy dickhead, he’d signed off on the SI Prosthetics Program paperwork without batting an eye. Bucky had passed the first round of tests with flying colors and was officially on the waiting list for a shiny-ass bionic limb. While it didn’t make it any easier seeing Bucky hurting, at least now Clint could remind him there was a light at the end of the tunnel when the phantom limb pain crashed the party. Something was better than nothing. Hell, Clint was just glad Bucky sought him out again instead of hiding in the bathroom to suffer alone.

Thank fuck Sam and Xavier agreed on that whole scene, Sam going so far as to suggest Bucky wasn’t doing his brother any favors by pretending everything was cool when it clearly was _not_. It was kinda hypocritical, actually, since everyone was trying to get Steve to back off the whole, “I’m fine,” routine. Sam managed to finish what Clint had started, and talked some sense into Bucky over his approach with Steve in general, convincing him he needed to focus his energy on taking care of _Bucky Barnes_ for a change.

Apparently, Bucky’s version of taking care of himself _also_ meant taking care of Clint, because all of a sudden, Clint had his boyfriend back in a big way. Steve did morning walks with Lucky on his own, but otherwise it was him and Bucky again, taking their furry friend around the neighborhood like old times. On top of that, since their date night had been a raging success, Bucky had asked if they could make it a weekly occurrence. They weren’t the fanciest outings, considering they were broke, but Clint loved each one more than the last.

Having Bucky all to himself for chunks of time was pretty great, but the changes at home were even better. Bucky kissed him again—real kisses—all the time, whether Steve was around or not. Touched him more, wrapped himself around Clint and held on tight whenever he was doing the dishes or attempting to cook. Bucky once again accompanied Clint to bed at night and was still there when Clint woke up. They would even hug and touch and properly snuggle on the couch, Bucky no longer convinced they needed to protect Steve from love and affection.

They got teased now, but if anything, Steve actually seemed more relaxed. Cap was oblivious about a lot of shit, but most of that had to do with himself and his inability to handle his own problems. When it came to other people, he was usually observant. Steve had _definitely_ picked up on the depressing and kinda awkward dynamic that had taken over the household, and Clint was willing to bet Cap felt responsible. Which… yeah, was partially true. Either way, Clint was pretty sure having to endure the two of them acting like lovesick dorks was better than watching everyone go off the rails, at least.

It was nice having positive shit happening in their life for a change. Bucky was putting in the work, which inspired Clint to step up his own game, but Sam Wilson was kind of responsible for the rest. Bucky had latched onto him right from the beginning, announcing, “I’m keepin’ him,” to Clint after their first meeting. The next thing he knew, Sam was folded into their circle of friends as if he’d always been there.

Sam had a way of cutting through bullshit and coaxing you into talking while not getting your hackles up, which pretty much made him a VIP in Clint’s books. Natasha was convinced Sam would be the perfect spy, because you just _wanted_ to be around the dude and open up to him. Probably because he was observant, as sweet as he was snarky, and gave off this super chill vibe. More importantly, perhaps, after everyone they’d lost, it was nice to remember that forging new friendships was possible _without_ being shot at and eating sand together.

Steve even took an instant liking to Sam, which could have been because he could see how much better Bucky was doing since meeting the man. Or maybe Sam’s all around goodness resonated with Steve’s similar shiny code of conduct? Whatever. Clint was just happy to see Steve smiling more often and leaving behind some of his battle-ready vibe.

Sam and Steve started going on runs with each other, and before long the two were hanging out together without anyone else around. Clint waited, expecting some territorial weirdness to make an appearance, but thankfully it never happened. The curiosity was bugging him, though so he asked Bucky how he felt about it one night while Bucky was naked and sprawled across their bed, still trying to catch his breath.

“Why the hell would I be jealous?”

“I dunno. ‘Cause Sam’s your new bestie, and your brother hijacked him?”

Bucky had stared at Clint for a moment before pulling him into a kiss. “Mm hmm, which means I get to stay home with _you_ ,” he’d said. “Sam’s great. More time Stevie spends with him, the better. But you,” and here Bucky had stroked Clint’s cheek and smiled up at him in a way that only happened when they were alone, “you’re my number one bestie, sweetheart. Ain’t nowhere I’d rather be than wherever you are. Super Gay Sunset, right?”

As far as answers went, that was pretty good.

“—when Paul sweet talks Jayla like he’s going for the gold,” Bucky said, the movement of his lips dragging Clint back into the moment.

_Whoops! Paying attention is a thing, Barton._

“I dunno, I don’t see Paul getting her name tattooed on his arm,” Sam countered, pointing to Bucky’s fresh ink.

“Hey, we offered,” Clint said, “but some people are babies about getting tattoos.”

“Speaking of which,” Natasha interrupted. “May I finish?”

“Yes, sir.” Bucky readjusted his arm and stilled himself, chewing on his lower lip while smiling down at the artwork.

Back on his birthday Bucky had asked each of them to come up with a new tattoo for him, wanting to make up for all the ones that had been lost along with his left arm. Clint’s inspiration had been sucked into the void once Steve moved in with them, but Natasha had come through like a champ with her interpretation of a classic, overplayed design. Clint’s first name was written out on a scroll in big, bold, capital letters, wrapped around an almost cutesy heart, but there were also crossed sniper rifles, two 7.62x51mm NATO rounds snuggling up to each other like they were in love, and arrows sticking out here and there. Bucky had taken one look at the thing and demanded to know when Natasha could do the work.

The whole tattooing situation left Clint feeling equal parts impatient and inspired. His notebook was upstairs, page after page filled with attempts to get everything perfect for his contribution to the Bucky Tattoo Project, but Clint was still dissatisfied with the results. Part of the problem was the subject matter itself—sniper shit like doping the wind wasn’t always easy to convey—but once Clint’s brain had latched onto the idea, he couldn’t let it go.

_At least you want to draw again. Take your victories where you can get ‘em._

Clint watched as Natasha wrapped things up, sharing a smile with her as she inspected the end results of her work. Since the next best thing to giving a tattoo was _getting_ one, Clint had texted to make arrangements with her earlier in the day, wanting to keep it a surprise for Bucky.

“Love it,” Bucky declared, holding his arm out for Clint to inspect before Natasha covered everything up. “Whaddya think?”

“Awesome,” Clint said with his mouth, while his hands said something else. Like how it made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and maybe even a bit horny to have the equivalent of, “This sexy fucker belongs to Clint, so back off,” stamped on Bucky’s arm for all the world to see.

Bucky’s expression went all bedroom dirty, hand moving rapidly, signing, “Glad I’m not the only one gettin’ off on it,” before giving Clint a quick kiss.

There was a chance their guests picked up on bits and pieces of what was said, but he and Buck didn’t exactly stick to using standard sign language with each other. Some of that was due to them using shortcuts ‘cause of Bucky only having the one hand, but a lot was down to Clint’s own slow-ass comprehension and shitty memory. Bucky was good with languages across the board, so Clint tried not to beat himself up too much for being way behind. Besides, it was fun getting to share a semi-secret language with his Bucky, even if it was technically butchering sign language.

Natasha snapped a photo with her phone before opening up a pack of non-stick gauze pads, nodding in response when Clint flashed her a, “We still cool?” look. Wanting to be helpful, Clint tugged on a pair of gloves and broke down the machine and station for her, a giddy sort of excitement bubbling up in anticipation of getting a new tattoo.

Clint could feel the weight of someone watching him and wasn’t surprised to see he had Steve’s full attention when he turned around. Cap didn’t seem upset or anything, exactly. Mostly he looked deep in thought, off somewhere in his own head again, brows furrowed. Clint gave him a little nod, then refocused on the task at hand, swapping to a clean pair of gloves before grabbing Natasha’s spare machine and setting things up for round two. Clint left the ink cups alone, since Tasha had a whole system for where she wanted everything, and would only get huffy with his placement if he bothered.

A tap on the shoulder. This time when he turned around it was Bucky watching him, smiling all sweetly, and signing, “What’s all this?”

_Here goes nothing._

“I figured we could match,” Clint signed, tapping the inside of his left forearm. “With your name, I mean. Be kinda weird to have a tattoo of my own dumb name.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide, the smile taking over his face, so Clint didn’t have any time to second guess himself, or worry that Bucky wasn’t into the idea. And then Bucky was crowding him against the kitchen island, thumb dragging over the inside of Clint’s wrist, kissing him a half dozen times. He was still smiling like a goof, which meant Clint was smiling back, so the kisses were more playful than anything, but still… By the end, Clint’s heart was racing, and his face felt all warm.

“Matched set,” Bucky mouthed, while his hand said, “Love you.”

The two of them stood there and kept staring at each other, so Lucky decided it was the perfect moment to join the party. Bucky lurched as Lucky barreled into the back of his legs, a quick grab by Clint the only thing that kept all three of them from hitting the ground.

“Aw, is somebody jealous?” Clint asked, grabbing the dog so they could roll around on the floor together, Lucky’s tongue darting out again and again to lick at his face.

The wrestling only lasted a couple minutes, then Lucky perked up, sitting at attention partially on top of Clint. When he looked up, Steve was standing above them holding Lucky’s leash, saying something to Sam.

Clint let Bucky pull him up to his feet. “Steve’s actin’ like dogs and sterilization don’t go together,” Bucky explained, “so him and Sam are gonna take Lucky for a walk while you get started.”

“Did he train our dog?” Clint asked as soon as the door shut behind Steve.

Bucky shrugged. “Think Lucky just decided Steve was in charge.” Whatever look was on Clint’s face prompted Bucky to add, “What? We’re big softie pushovers and Steve acts like he’s in charge of the world.”

Natasha waved and the two of them came to attention much the way Lucky had, which was either pathetic or hilarious. Or smart. It _was_ Tasha, after all. “Wash up so I can get started.”

Clint saluted out of habit, planted another kiss on Bucky, then went over to the sink to do as asked. Natasha had spent the night working so far, instead of hanging out like the rest of them, so Clint didn’t want to keep her waiting.

“Sorry, Tasha,” he said, flopping down on the stool and presenting his arm. “Thanks, too. I owe you some ink, if you want any.”

Natasha’s eyes lit up, lips curling into a sly smile. “Perfect. I call dibs on that mandala you’ve been working on.”

“Yeah?” Clint watched her face closely, looking for any tell that she was only humoring him and finding nothing of the sort. “Cool. Whenever you want. Been ages. I miss this shit.”

It was still tough wrapping his head around the idea that anyone would want _him_ to tattoo them, especially with his own artwork, but whatever. Clint had loved it from the very first moment, even when it was just Natasha showing him how the machine worked. He’d wasted a stupid amount of ink and countless hours back when they lived on the base tattooing fruit, or pig skin—which was gross, but taught him a lot—probably driving Tasha nuts with all his questions.

The first time tattooing a person had been beyond nerve wracking, especially since the person in question was Bucky, but he’d managed not to fuck it up, and that was that. Clint was officially in love. Natasha was worlds better, but she also had way more experience than he did, something Clint tried to keep in mind. And Steve… Well, Cap wasn’t any kind of normal person you could measure up to, anyway.

Bucky pulled a stool over to sit beside Natasha, so Clint would have a good line of sight. “How much are the guns? I’m sure we can find money in the budget.”

Clint sighed and tried not to wiggle, watching as Natasha filled cups with ink. “Nah. Maybe after I figure out a job, or something.”

“You can borrow this one when I’m done,” Natasha offered. She held Clint’s gaze for a moment, making it clear saying _no_ would be a waste of time. Since she knew him so well, Natasha added, “It’ll be good to get familiar with the machine before doing my piece,” which made accepting the offer a lot easier.

“Awesome, thanks.”

Bucky smiled at him from across the way as Natasha made some final adjustments before firing up the gun and getting to work. “Keepin’ still might be tough,” he said. “Kept catchin’ myself wantin’ to move my hand to talk.”

“Weird how that all seems normal now,” Clint said, feeling the same urge to move.

“Hey, Tasha,” Bucky said, leaning in close. “I need a second opinion. Any chance in hell Sam’s a little bent?”

_Here we go again._

Natasha chuckled, nose wrinkling up in amusement. “Don’t.”

“What, I can’t ask?” Bucky tried and failed to look innocent.

“Dude, we’ve been over this. He’s _straight_ ,” Clint insisted, “stop trying to hook him up with Steve.”

Bucky scowled. “I thought we were straight, too, and that ain’t even close to the truth. C’mon, Tasha, gimme your honest opinion. Any chance at all?”

“Sorry, I’m on Clint’s side. Sam isn’t interested in that kind of relationship with Steve,” Natasha said, and Clint couldn’t help but add, “Ha, told you so!”

“Steve’s not ready to get involved with anyone, anyway,” Natasha added. “Making a new friend is a victory, at this point.”

It looked like Bucky sighed, some of the old sadness there in his eyes. “I know.” Bucky locked eyes with Clint, tried on a smile. “Havin’ someone to love and fight for makes this shitshow a hell of a lot easier. Can’t help but think it’d be the same for Stevie.”

Clint reached across the island with his free hand to give Bucky’s fingers a squeeze. As long as Steve was in a bad place, it wouldn’t matter how much work Bucky put into himself. There’d always be a part of Bucky that _hurt_ for his brother.

“He’ll get there, Buck.”

_Someday. Maybe. Hopefully._

“Clint tell you he tricked Steve into sleepin’ with the dog?” Bucky asked Natasha. She looked up from the tattoo long enough to raise an eyebrow in question.

“Hey, it worked for me when I came home,” Clint said. “Lucky’s why I stopped sleeping in the closet.”

Bucky smirked. “Hey, I thought I was the reason you came outta the closet?”

“Shuddap.”

“Sleeping with Lucky makes sense,” Natasha said, blotting Clint’s skin. “I’m just surprised he took the advice. Accepting implies there’s a problem.”

Clint almost shrugged, but caught himself at the last minute. “Sam was a sneaky fuck and asked me how I dealt with the hypervigilance back before Bucky came home. All I had to do was talk about it while Steve did the good friend thing and listened.”

“And then Clint had Lucky stay downstairs with Steve while we headed up to bed,” Bucky added. “He’s still havin’ the nightmares, but Lucky wakes him up before they get screamin’ bad.”

“Nightmares suck,” Clint sighed. “Had ‘em all the time. Lucky’s got practice.”

This time, Bucky squeezed Clint’s fingers, which was nice. Natasha paused in her work to join in, her perfectly manicured nails making Clint wish he hadn’t bitten his own all ragged.

_Another bad habit to break, Barton._

“How ‘bout you, Tasha?” Bucky asked snagging Natasha’s hand to press a kiss against her knuckles before she got back to it. “Holdin’ up okay?”

“Best I can,” she said after a moment, stroking Bucky’s cheek and then refocusing on the task at hand. “I’ll be better after finding work. The free time is annoying at this point.”

“Still doing that thing?” Clint asked.

Natasha smiled. “Sometimes.”

Bucky looked at one and then the other of them, eyes narrowing. “What thing?”

“Something I do for fun,” Natasha answered cryptically. “Role-playing, mostly. I’ll put together a false identity in my head and then go out for the day as that person. See if anyone’s curiosity is piqued, or if I can blend in without issue.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

“Mm hmm.”

“Same people, or a new one each time?” Bucky asked.

“I have about a half dozen I rotate through.” Natasha shared a smile with Clint.

She'd told him all about it, even had him tag along once while playing the role of “Natalie Rushman.” The whole thing had been kind of fun, in a weird way. Clint figured it probably wasn't healthy, but if pretending to be someone else for awhile made it easier for Natasha to transition into civilian life it couldn't be _that_ bad.

“Anyone else, and that’d sound fuckin’ crazy,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “You, though? It makes perfect sense. Do me a favor, don’t go and let Parker find out, he’ll try to recruit you, too.”

Natasha’s shoulders shook with laughter. “What makes you think he hasn’t already?”

Clint groaned as Bucky sat up ramrod straight. Richard Parker wasn’t exactly at the top of Bucky’s list of Favorite People, even though they’d come to an understanding.

“That fuckin’ guy,” Bucky said. “Mary, too. I swear, if the whole pregnancy thing is a fake—”

“It’s not,” Natasha interrupted. “Unplanned, but real enough. Mary loves her career. She’s… let’s say _conflicted_ about the situation. And before you ask, I have no intention of working for the government again. Or any private contractors. I’m surprisingly okay with this new ‘no one is trying to kill me’ lifestyle.”

“Me too,” Clint chimed in.

Bucky shrugged. “Me three.” He studied Natasha for a moment, then grinned. “So, if Sam is straight as an arrow, have _you_ considered—”

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut up now,” Natasha said, batting her lashes in Bucky’s direction. He held his hand up in surrender, laughing when she swatted his chest. “You have your own love life to look after.”

Clint smiled. “Yeah, look after me.”

“Oh, I’ll look after you alright,” Bucky threatened, biting down into his lower lip while flashing some filthy signs at Clint.

And, because he was a giant, unapologetic pervert, Clint couldn’t help but think of a time in the not too distant future, when both of their tattoos were all healed up, and what it might look like, seeing their names written on each other’s skin while jerking each other off. Maybe Bucky was thinking something along the same lines, because he got all adorably pink in the cheeks.

Only, in addition to being a pervert, Clint’s brain was also an asshole, and had to go and think of Barney again. What he might do or say or think if he ever saw the tattoo. Clint ducked his head a bit, focusing on the not unpleasant burn and sting of the ink being pushed into his skin.

There were long chunks of time where he could forget it had ever happened, but then the memory would sneak up on him, leaving Clint angry or sad, depending upon the kind of day he was having. Barney had sent a couple texts, but none of them were an apology, so Clint hadn’t bothered replying. The whole situation was stupid. Barney hadn’t really been involved in his life since Clint had shipped off to basic, anyway. It shouldn’t even matter one way or the other what his jerk of a brother thought. But it did.

Bucky tapped on the kitchen island, the vibration and movement intended to get Clint’s attention, then tilted his head in the direction of the front door, cluing him in that Steve and Sam were on their way up. A moment later, the door opened and the pair walked in, Steve smiling softly over something Sam was saying. Steve caught Clint watching and the smile became something a bit more substantial.

“No jumping on Hawkeye,” Steve instructed as he let Lucky off his leash.

And maybe it was because he was already thinking about rejection and Barney, but it hit Clint all over again, the way it sometimes did, that they’d really and truly made it back home alive. All of them together, the core members of the family Clint had assembled in an attempt to make up for the one he didn’t have growing up. A partner, a best friend. Steve was younger than him and they weren’t blood related, but he _felt_ like Clint’s big brother in all the ways Barney never had.

“Hey, Cap?” Clint said, waiting for Steve to meet his eyes again. “I love you.”

Steve’s eyes went a little wide with surprise, an odd, vulnerable sort of expression taking over his face before he got himself back under control. “I love you, too, Clint,” he said after a moment, expression far too serious considering the words. Or maybe not? Love was some serious shit, after all, and shouldn’t be dismissed or taken for granted.

“Same goes for me, Captain,” Natasha said, pausing so she could give Steve her attention. “I don’t say it enough, but I love you.”

Steve squirmed, then walked over to plant a kiss on the top of Natasha’s head. “Thanks, Tasha. Love you, too.” Steve followed this up with a kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “This knucklehead already knows how much I love him.”

Bucky grinned up at his brother. “What can I say, I’m a loveable guy.”

Steve continued around the kitchen island and, after a moment’s hesitation, kissed Clint’s forehead, too. His eyes were a bit bright, as if he was fighting off tears, but that was better than seeing the blank, lifeless expression Steve had been sporting for far too long.

“Anybody want pizza?” Steve asked, which was a pretty good question to put out there if you wanted to change the subject. The group took pity on him, and started debating over what to order, Clint not bothering to try to keep up.

“Anything but pineapple,” he contributed, eyes focused on the new tattoo.

When he looked up, Bucky was watching him like Clint was something beautiful and magical. How the hell could he feel anything but happy from the top of his head down to his toes when he had Bucky in his life, looking at him like that?

“Love you,” Bucky signed, and it took all of Clint’s self control to keep still and not mess up the tattoo.

“Love you, too, Buck,” he said, reaching out with his free hand so they could hold on to each other. Bucky kissed his palm, then curled his fingers around Clint’s wrist as they watched Natasha ink Bucky’s name into Clint’s skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crazy time constraints today, so comment replies coming shortly! Wanted to make sure the chapter got up. OH. LOOK. They're HAPPY! :D Also... SAM!!! *throws confetti* Help these fools (*cough* Steve *cough*), Sam. We believe in you~! XD


	14. Chapter 14

“Yeah?”

The word was breathed against Bucky’s shoulder, hot and sticky, punctuated by the press of lips and a swipe of Clint’s tongue. Bucky nodded frantically, answered, “Fuck yeah,” even though his answer would go unheard. Couldn’t help but run his mouth, words tumbling out as he watched a bead of sweat drop down from his nose to the sheets below. “Clint, _fuck_ , please baby, just… oh fuck, gimme _more_...” and on and on, in time with the slow, steady, tortuous rhythm Clint was maintaining.

Clint was everywhere, wrapped around him like some sort of sexy octopus, cock buried deep in Bucky’s ass, one arm around his chest and holding onto his shoulder, the other around his waist. His hips hardly moved at all, an awful, wonderful, perpetual rocking motion happening instead, Clint’s aim as accurate as ever while he teased the pleasure out of Bucky.

Bucky was blissfully unaware of how long they’d been at it, only knew that his muscles were like jello, while his cock felt hard enough to cut diamonds, hair soaked with sweat, balls aching. Off and on, Bucky’s arm had trembled, threatened to give out on him, and each time Clint had pulled him back against his chest to ease the strain. Bucky would writhe on Clint’s cock until his thighs started to shake, and then he’d find himself bent over once more, Clint holding him tight and safe while fucking him nice and slow.

The position made communicating awkward, which was why this was the first time they’d given it a go. Bucky wasn’t sure he’d ever recover if it also wound up being the last, because _holy fucking hell_ was he a fan. It was more than the angle of penetration, had something to do with offering himself up like that, of feeling on display almost. Whatever it was, Bucky _liked_ it, wanted to chase the sensation again and again.

Bucky sucked in a shuddering breath, another moan of pleasure punched out of him when Clint _thrust_ , a real one this time, hard and precise, nailing Bucky where he wanted it most. “Oh, _fuck_!”

“Like that?” Clint asked, dragging his lips over to Bucky’s ear. Bucky nodded, twisted his head around, panting against Clint’s mouth as they kissed awkwardly. Clint shifted, hands sliding across Bucky’s body, fingers tweaking a nipple and then brushing up along the underside of his aching cock before Clint reached up to push Bucky’s sweat slick hair back from his face. “So beautiful, Buck, you got no idea.”

Clint’s own hair was dark with sweat, too, plastered to his head where it wasn’t sticking up all crazy. Every perfect, enviable muscle in his arms and chest was visible, straining with effort. Bucky could feel how hard Clint was inside of him, how close to orgasm, but his eyes were all playful patience.

“So close, sweetheart,” Bucky groaned, letting himself collapse against the bed, ass up in the air. Strong hands had hold of his hips, kept him from trying to take more of Clint’s dick, shifted and moved to spread him wide open, making Bucky moan and shudder all over again.

“Ready?”

“Fuckin’ been ready _forever_ ,” Bucky mumbled, nodding his agreement, looking over his shoulder once more. Clint was grinning down at him like a dope, expression shifting when Bucky mouthed, “ _Please_ ,” as clearly as possible.

Clint growled, which was pretty hot, but not as attention-worthy as the rest of what was happening. Clint must have seen Bucky had reached his limit, or perhaps he’d reached his own. He pulled Bucky up and off of the sheets, an arm around his chest again to help support Bucky’s weight, the other braced against the mattress as he fucked Bucky hard and fast and _perfect_.

“Oh fuck, oh _fuck_ ,” Bucky chanted. Never ever had he missed his left hand more, desperate, aching, needing to thrust into his own fist while Clint pounded into him, and, “Thank fuckin’— _Clint_ , oh, sweetheart!”

His boyfriend was a mind reader, no two ways about it. He’d grabbed Bucky’s wrist and shifted him until Bucky was holding onto the headboard, the new position meaning he was almost but not quite kneeling. Clint’s fingers curled around Bucky’s dick, tugging in time with Clint’s now frantic thrusts, making Bucky keen with pleasure. It felt like Clint was glued to him, no space between them at all, Clint moaning into his hair as Bucky clenched down on Clint’s cock and shook to pieces.

Clint started babbling, “ _Bucky_ , oh, damnit, m’so close, _please_ , you gotta—” which was a-okay, because Bucky was _so_ _there_. Clint’s rhythm was all over the place, but he’d gone and started corkscrewing his fist over the slick head of Bucky’s cock, which was all it took to send him toppling over the edge.

Bucky struggled to keep his eyes open, because he loved watching himself come, especially when it was with Clint’s hand wrapped around his dick. Sweet waves of relief coursed through Bucky’s body in time with the riotous pounding of his heart and the spurting of his cock. Clint’s fingers were slippery with come, which made them feel all the more fantastic, Clint milking him steadily, body still plastered to Bucky’s, but shaking now as he fucked the orgasm out of Bucky.

Clint was whimpering into his hair, the sounds soft and desperate, Bucky’s own moans of pleasure ceasing as he struggled to suck in another lungful of air. Somewhere a door slammed, which made Bucky’s heart lurch, but he was understandably distracted, and so…

“ _Buck_ ,” Clint whined, hands shifting, taking hold of Bucky’s hips, thrusting desperately while Bucky did his best to _squeeze_ around Clint’s dick. “I’m gonna—”

Beneath the racket Clint raised as he chased his own release, Bucky heard something else entirely. Laughter echoing in the hallway, getting closer, keys in a lock, and then… chaos.

Everything seemed to happen at once. Bucky’s sex-drunk brain put two and two together, and came to the awful realization that Steve had returned to the apartment earlier than expected, and was not alone. Which would have been fine, if Clint wasn’t also balls deep in Bucky’s ass, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen, moaning as he tensed up with his impending orgasm.

Autopilot. His body moved on fucking _autopilot_ , reacting to the interruption before his brain had any time to engage. Bucky’s head snapped up in shock, which meant the back of his head connected rather dramatically with Clint’s face. There was an audible _crunch_ , followed by a shout of, “Mother _fucker_!”

One second Clint was everywhere, the next he was gone, cock slipping out of Bucky’s ass as he tumbled backward onto the bed, groaning loudly. Head throbbing with pain, Bucky spun around, scrambling for Clint, anxious to warn him about their impending audience and see if he was okay, but Clint’s eyes were squeezed shut, and his hands were covering his face.

“Shit!” Bucky grabbed one of Clint’s wrists, tried to pull his hand away, heart racing.

“ _Owwww_! Are you fucking kidding me?” Clint growled, shoving Bucky aside. His watering eyes opened the tiniest bit so he could squint-glare.

From downstairs came the sounds of footsteps and the front door closing, Natasha’s voice asking, “Did you hear that?” before Steve called out, “Uh, guys, is everything okay?”

“Fine,” Bucky shouted over his shoulder, still wrestling with Clint. Then he thought better of it and added, “Don’t come up here!”

Clint had finally stopped fighting him, his eyes as round as saucers, and face covered in blood. “Oh _shit_ , baby, I think I broke your nose,” Bucky said, feeling sick to his stomach.

“Is somebody here?” Clint hissed. Bucky nodded, felt sick all over again as the anger and frustration cascaded across Clint’s face. “Well that’s just _awesome_!”

Bucky scrambled to get out of the way as Clint climbed out of their bed and staggered toward the bathroom. He kept his head tipped back, held onto his face as he moaned all pathetically, flagging erection bobbing in time with his steps.

Steve sounded closer when he said, “Are you sure—”

“We’re fine,” Bucky yelled. “Gimme a minute! _Fuck_.”

It reeked of sex and the bed was a mess; scattered across the sweat soaked sheets was a bottle of lube and the injector, along with unused condoms and the wrapper for the one Clint was still wearing. Even better, the headboard was streaked with Bucky’s come, which was at least less troubling than the blood Clint had left behind.

Bucky felt stupid and shaky in the aftermath of his orgasm and Clint’s injury, so it took a second for him to take action. Sweatpants were the easiest thing to get on quickly, so he snagged a pair and got himself covered before flipping the blankets up and over everything in an attempt to hide what they’d been doing.

Clint was going to need clothes, so Bucky grabbed some things off of the floor and ran for the bathroom, only to collide with the locked door in confusion. For a moment he stood there, not sure how to proceed, because Clint wasn’t going to hear him if he knocked, but then the door opened and Clint almost walked into him.

“Seriously?” he cried, squinting at Bucky in irritation. He had a towel pressed to his face and tears streaming from his eyes. Once he saw Bucky had clothes, Clint grabbed them, tossed them into the bathroom, then tipped his head back again before turning around. “Don't let anyone up here,” he barked, slamming the door shut behind him before shouting, “and get me some ice!”

“Yeah, okay.”

Bucky stood there for a second, legs shaking as adrenaline battled his post-orgasmic bliss. Every nerve ending was tingling, even in the arm that wasn't there. It was distracting as hell. So was the slickness between his ass cheeks and the not unpleasant throbbing sensation deeper inside, a reminder of where Clint had been and what had been interrupted.

Dragging a shaking hand through his wet hair, Bucky finally got a move on it, taking the stairs as quickly as possible. Steve, Natasha, and Sam were crowded around the kitchen island with bags of take out, their quiet conversation coming to an abrupt halt when Bucky made an appearance.

Steve sucked air in through his teeth, the sound cutting through some of the fog in Bucky's head, hitting him low in the gut. He hadn't bothered with wrestling himself into a shirt or hoodie or anything else, so the aftermath of the amputation and all the associated scars from the incident were on display. Bucky could feel their eyes watching him, could see the color had drained from Steve's face. In that moment, Bucky felt the weight of everything he'd done since the explosion in an attempt to protect Steve from the reality of how it had altered him, and while a part of him wanted to run back upstairs to grab more clothes, the rest of him was _so fucking tired_ of Steve's shit.

“Get over it,” Bucky snarled, the hand he still had curled into a fist and shaking at his side as he continued on toward the fridge. “And I thought you were goin’ out?”

“Wh… What?” Steve stammered.

Bucky yanked open the freezer, jaw tight, anger and adrenaline and concern for Clint making his head pound.

“Is everything okay?” Sam asked.

“Oh, come on!” Bucky threw the empty ice cube trays into the sink with enough force that one bounced back out and landed on the floor. “How fuckin’ hard is it to put water in a goddamned tray?”

“Bucky?” And that was Natasha this time.

“I don't even use ice,” Bucky said through clenched teeth, “and Steve is fuckin’ OCD about shit, so… Fuck it, Clint gets,” Bucky paused to examine the closest bag of frozen food, “corn.”

Bag of corn kernels clutched in his hand, Bucky spun on his heels and headed for the stairs, shouldering his way past a concerned Natasha. “Stay downstairs,” he said over his shoulder, “Clint doesn't want anyone up here.”

He could hear them having a frantic sort of whispered conversation behind him, but Bucky didn't have time to care. As long as they stayed put, he'd deal with them later.

Thankfully Clint had left the bathroom door unlocked, so Bucky was able to get inside this time. “You used up all the—” he began, words dying out in response to what was waiting for him on the other side of the door.

Clint was shirtless, but had put the pants on. They were actually Bucky's, the extra material bunched up at Clint's ankles, which would have been adorable under different circumstances. But there was blood _everywhere_ , smeared drops of it on the floor along with wads of blood soaked toilet paper, the sink covered in splotches and swirls and streaks of dark reds and lighter pinks, even more blood on Clint's face and spattered on his chest and suddenly Bucky's legs didn't want to hold him up anymore, vision swimming and going dark around the edges as panic smacked him upside the head.

The bag of frozen corn hit the floor with a sick sort of noise, Bucky having let go of it so he could make a grab for the door frame in an attempt to stay upright, but he was going _down_ , heart hammering like it was going to explode. The urge to be sick took a back seat to the lightheadedness, and the overwhelming need to _get away_. Bucky couldn’t hear anything over his own ragged breathing, couldn’t get it under control, head swimming as he clumsily dragged himself away from the bathroom.

“I need help up here!” Clint screamed.

Bucky almost made it to the bed before he couldn’t go any further, was hunched over, sweating and shaking again, but under very different circumstances than earlier in the evening, the room spinning around him. And then Natasha was there, taking him by the shoulders, cradling his face in her warm hands and staring into his eyes.

“Exhale,” she ordered, but how the hell was he supposed to do that when there was no air in his lungs?

“Clint,” Bucky managed to spit out.

“He’s fine,” Natasha insisted, trying to pull Bucky into a hug, rubbing his back. “You’re fine, you’re going to be okay, just breathe out, Bucky. Nice and slow, exhale.”

From somewhere far away, Steve was shouting questions, that command voice of his cutting through everything else, even the ringing in Bucky’s ears and the sounds of heavy machine gun fire. He was _freezing_ , shaking, felt like all the blood had been drained out of his body. The stink of smoke and fuel and sweat and blood filled Bucky’s nostrils, the bright spots in his field of vision being eaten up by the darkness, and he _couldn’t_ —not yet, not yet, not yet— _not without Clint_ , he needed to see him and tell him and—

Bucky heard himself babbling, “Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Clint, I'm sorry,” distantly aware of other voices and yelling and then Natasha was gone and Sam was there. That didn’t make any damn sense, because Sam wasn’t supposed to be there, why the fuck was Sam Wilson—

“Hey, Bucky, you’re okay,” Sam said, clinical voice in full effect. “We’re in New York, in your apartment. Everyone is safe. Clint is safe. Try to breathe with me, okay?”

And he tried, he did, even managed to look up from the sand colored carpet and into Sam’s warm brown eyes, but it felt like he was dying and he was _scared_ , couldn’t handle the idea of leaving, not without Clint knowing the truth. Even if it was too late, he needed to know, Bucky needed to tell him!

“Out of the way, coming in hot,” Bucky heard. Then Sam was gone and Clint was finally _there_ , which meant Bucky could breathe again, the air rushing out of him as he reached for Clint.

“I'm right here, Bucky, I've got you, baby,” Clint said, pulling Bucky into his arms and holding on tight. “You're gonna be okay, I'm right here, not going anywhere, promise.”

“Love you,” Bucky managed to gasp against Clint’s collarbone before he started sobbing.

Clint rocked him back and forth, strong arms holding Bucky upright so he could let himself melt into the embrace. Back and forth, one arm wrapped tight around his shoulders, while Clint pet his hair, stroked his back, lips pressed against Bucky’s forehead.

“Shh, it’s okay, we’re okay,” Clint said again and again, and, “I love you,” and, “I’m right here, Buck, I got your back. We’re all good.”

Thankfully the sobbing was short lived, Clint’s words and the feeling of being in his arms cutting through the panic in a way nothing else had. Bucky listened to the steady beating of Clint’s heart, focused on the rise and fall of his chest, followed along, until breathing felt natural again and the darkness receded.

“What happened, Buck?” Clint asked. Before he could answer, warm, wonderfully familiar hands cupped Bucky’s face, tilting his chin up and holding him still. Clint’s eyes were watering, his face damp and pink and swollen, wads of toilet paper stuffed in his nostrils.

“ _Shit_ ,” Bucky hissed, mind catching up with reality in a rush. He grabbed hold of Clint’s wrist and swallowed around his anger. “Did I actually break your nose?”

Clint winced. “Uh, yeah, kinda. I think? I dunno.” Clint let go of Bucky in order to prod at his own face, wincing again. “The bleeding finally slowed down so Tasha says I can wait and see a doctor tomorrow instead of dealing with the ER all night.”

“Goddammit.” Bucky exhaled in a rush, dragging his hand across his face, palm coming away slick with sweat and tears. “Ugh, I _stink_.”

Movement caught Bucky’s attention. Natasha and Sam were standing nearby, either observing or waiting to help. The embarrassment hit Bucky hard, but he raged against the sensation. After everything he’d lived through, he’d earned the right to a couple freakouts, at least. Still, he felt like he owed them an explanation or an apology. _Something_.

“Sorry. I… It was the blood, I wasn’t expectin’ it and it was just,” Bucky swallowed down the panic before it could surge up again, “ _everywhere_. And, uh… I guess that was a—whaddaya call it?—a trigger. _Shit_.”

Clint rubbed Bucky’s back, eyes soft and sympathetic. “Aw, Buck.”

“Considering what you’ve been through, that’s understandable,” Sam said, crouching down so he was on eye level with Bucky. “Take a minute, catch your breath. I’ll get the bathroom cleaned up so you can take a shower.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut up and follow orders,” Natasha said. She wrapped a towel around Bucky’s shoulders, which was good, because he was still shivering, then pointed at them. “You two, snuggle. We’ll take care of the mess.”

Natasha waited until they were seated with their backs against the bed and Clint’s arm around Bucky’s shoulders before she produced the bag of frozen corn kernels. “Ice your face, Hawkeye.”

“Yes, sir.” Clint hissed with displeasure, but kept the bag in place, turning his head so he could see Bucky. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, licking his lips. Now that he no longer felt like he was dying, the guilt was making itself known. “How ‘bout you?”

“Feeling deeply conflicted.” Clint sighed, his hold on Bucky tightening as he twisted around to make sure they were still alone. “You were so, _so_ hot like that, Buck,” he said in a rush. “I mean dirty, filthy, ego-boosting, _porn_ _fantasy_ hot. The way you were going all wild for my dick? _Best sex ever_ , right up until the big _not_ finish!”

Bucky groaned, hanging his head, not wanting to, but unable stop himself from laughing at the absurdity of it all. “You didn’t come?”

“No, I didn’t come,” Clint whispered furiously, “I _started_ to, then my face got broken and my dick changed its mind. Stop laughing, asshole, panic attack or no, at least you got off!”

“Shh,” Bucky signed for Clint to quiet down, adding, “Stevie’s downstairs probably losin’ his mind and shit.”

“Like I give a fuck.” Clint scowled, the ferocity somewhat mitigated by the bits of toilet paper sticking out of his nose and the bag of frozen corn partially obscuring the daggers in his eyes. “What the hell are they even doing here?”

“I dunno,” Bucky said, still shaking with laughter. “There’s a buncha food downstairs if you’re hungry, though.”

“Awesome, as soon as I stop tasting blood, I’ll dig right in.”

Bucky shifted so Clint could slouch against him now, their legs sticking out in front of them as they sat together in silence for a moment. Clint took a deep, shaky breath, but whatever he was preparing to say was cut off by the bathroom door opening.

“Alright, you’re back in business,” Sam announced as he and Natasha emerged. He walked closer and leaned down to tap Clint’s shoulder before asking, “How’s the face, Clint?”

“Hurts.”

Sam nodded and handed Clint some ibuprofen. “Here. I’ll get you a glass of water,” but Clint popped the pills into his mouth and dry swallowed them. “Or not.”

“Thanks.” Clint kept the bag of corn pressed to his face as he stood up and extended a helping hand to Bucky. “Cool if I check my face again?”

“Yeah, come on,” Bucky said, heart aching with that special blend of sympathy and guilt again. He followed Clint to the bathroom, turning to add, “Thanks, Sam. Tasha. We’ll be down in a couple minutes,” before closing the door behind them.

Clint had already turned on the shower and was testing the water, the bag of corn sitting in the sink and the wads of toilet paper no longer in his nose. “Okay if we share? It’ll be quicker.”

Bucky nodded, shoved the sweatpants down until he could step out of them. Clint watched him with an open, almost raw sort of hunger in his eyes, and that alone was enough to make Bucky hyper aware of the slick, _empty_ feel to his ass.

“Wanna try for a happy endin’?”

Clint opened and closed his mouth a few times before his grumpy face fully manifested. “No,” he grumbled, taking off his pants, “what I want is privacy.”

That said, he stepped into the shower. Bucky took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then took another before joining Clint. He was standing under the stream of water, head tilted so his face wouldn't be under the spray, eyes squeezed shut. Clint was equal parts beautiful and pathetic in the moment; good _goddamn_ did Bucky love the man.

Bucky reached out, settled his hand on Clint's hip and waited for him to open his eyes. “I'm so sorry, baby, I didn't mean to—”

“C’mon, Buck, I know that,” Clint interrupted. He chewed on his lower lip and shrugged, moving aside so that Bucky could also enjoy the hot water. “Not like this is the first time it's been broken. Besides, I probably would've reacted the same way if I could hear.”

It felt a little like Bucky's heart had punched down through his chest and into his stomach. “Clint–”

“It's kinda my own fault,” Clint barreled on, eyes focused somewhere in the vicinity of Bucky's sternum. “I could've gotten the stupid hearing aids ages ago.”

“Hey,” Bucky signed, “there ain't nothin’ wrong with you, Clint. You don't _need_ to get ‘em.”

Clint finally met Bucky's eyes again and gestured toward his swollen face. “Yeah, ‘cause it's working out great so far.”

Bucky opened his mouth to argue, but Clint turned aside, grabbed the shampoo and squirted some in his palm. Then Clint had to go and say, “I miss your voice,” his own cracking as the words left his mouth.

Instead of washing his own hair, Clint started on Bucky's, his eyes darting back and forth as he worked up a lather, as if scared to see what might be in Bucky's eyes if he looked too long. The sadness made Bucky’s heart feel like it was being squeezed in a vise, tears slipping down his cheeks despite how hard he tried to hold them back.

“Come on, baby, look at me,” Bucky signed, wishing there was something he could do or say to make it better. Knowing there wasn’t.

Clint smiled all wobbly. “I never even got to hear you say I love you,” he said, voice trembling. “I mean, you said it a bunch when you meant like a friend, but that’s _different_. Doesn’t seem fair, is all, after how long I waited.”

Bucky sucked air in through his teeth, reached for Clint, held him tight, not caring that the shampoo suds were running into his eyes. He was already crying anyway, so what did it matter?

“I’m so sorry,” Bucky sobbed, the regret pressing down on him, threatening to overwhelm him entirely. As much as he wanted to never let go of Clint ever again, Bucky leaned out of the embrace and apologized one more time so Clint would know what had been said. “I’m a fuckin’ chickenshit idiot,” he added, “I wasted so much time, and now you’re payin’ the price—”

Clint silenced him with a kiss, hand fisted tightly in Bucky’s hair, lips pressed almost painfully against Bucky’s own. “C’mon, Buck, I coulda said something, too.”

“But—”

His protests were cut off by Clint guiding him under the spray of water, hands running through Bucky’s hair to rinse away the shampoo. “Don’t listen to me. I’m being a baby. A coward, too. Every week I tell Dr. Cho I’m gonna follow through and try the hearing aids, but I never do.” Clint’s mouth wobbled and he shrugged. “It’s Barney all over again.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked, pushing aside all of the other things he wanted to say. It was pretty clear Clint needed to talk through some shit, but couldn't quite come out with everything directly.

Clint shrugged again. “I’ve got it all built up in my head and now it’s intimidating as hell.”

“Back up a minute, sweetheart,” Bucky said, cupping Clint's jaw. “Do you even _want_ the hearing aids? ‘Cause last I checked the world is full of perfectly happy deaf people livin’ full and meaningful lives. Bunches of ‘em decide not to get implants or use hearing aids.”

“Yeah, I know,” Clint said, smile there and gone again. “I guess the thing is… Right now, I feel like I have options. I know it's not gonna be anything like before. Only… until I do it, I can pretend. That I'll get ‘em and everything will be normal again.” Clint sighed and hung his head. “Man, I sound like an idiot.”

Bucky swallowed around the lump in his throat. “No you don't,” he signed. “The prosthetic program has me all conflicted, too. All these what ifs keep runnin’ through my head.”

“Yeah?” Clint looked hopeful now, and Bucky had to kiss him, a quick press of lips, careful not to brush against his nose.

“Hells yeah. I mean, the whole thing could be a nightmare. I gotta get more surgery, for a start, which means more time in a hospital. All the fucking antiseptic smells? Makes me wanna puke just thinkin’ about it.”

“I'm scared about you getting surgery, too,” Clint said. He grabbed the body wash and squirted some onto a loofah. “Seeing you stuck in a bed again is gonna suck.”

Bucky nodded his agreement. “I keep remindin’ myself it's not the same sort of situation. Should only be there a day or two, max. But there's always a chance I won't be able to operate the thing and they'll have to remove it. Or it'll work, but the pain’ll still be there. Like I said, lots of what ifs.”

“Hearing aids aren't even invasive,” Clint pointed out with a frown.

“So what? Doesn't mean it's any less freaky for you.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he conceded after a moment. “At least you're still going through with it, though, which is more than I’m doing.”

Bucky snatched the loofah out of Clint's hand. “Only reason I'm givin’ it a shot is ‘cause of the pain. If I didn't have that as motivation, I probably wouldn't bother.”

Clint wrestled him for the loofah, his scowl slipping away to be replaced with exasperation and laughter. “Stubborn fucker.”

“Uh huh. And you never answered my question. Do you _want_ to try them?”

“ _Yes_ , I wanna try them,” Clint said, rolling his eyes. “Even… even though you'll sound different.”

Bucky dragged the sudsy loofah across Clint's chest, up over his shoulder and down one of his perfectly sculpted arms. “Whenever you’re ready, I can go with you. Only if you want, though.”

“That’d be good.” Clint hung his head again before pulling Bucky into a tight embrace. They swayed together beneath the water, until Clint said, “My face hurts.”

After another squeeze, Bucky handed over the loofah so Clint could finish up. “Let's get more ice on it. We’ll figure everything else out tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Bucky allowed himself to be scrubbed, pressed kisses on whatever bits of Clint he could reach while it happened, trying to keep a smile on his face despite the tears stinging at his eyes. Clint was right—none of it was fair—but at least they were both alive and in a position to complain.

The rest of their shower was quiet and hurried. Clint squinted through most of it, as if keeping his eyes opened hurt. They dried off, towels around their waists as they crept back into the bedroom and grabbed clothes, stepping back into the bathroom to get dressed. It wasn't necessarily a clear line of sight from the living room up into the loft, but Bucky really wasn't in the mood for any more show and tell.

Everything Clint had grabbed belonged to Bucky, including the t-shirt and pajama bottoms he pulled on. He did that sometimes, when he was in a funk, and even though it was a sign Clint was feeling emotional, Bucky was a possessive bastard and loved seeing it happen. Loved the way the fabric of his shirt hugged Clint's skin, the way the pajama pants hung a little low on his hips. Wanted to wrap Clint up in _himself_ , show the whole world that Clint had chosen him to love.

Clint caught him watching and smiled weakly when Bucky blew him a kiss. “Knock it off. You can't look at me like that when we got company over.”

Bucky sighed and handed Clint his hoodie, not surprised in the least by the flash of relief in Clint's eyes. The hood was up as soon as Clint had it on, hands shoved deep in the pockets, but he stopped to press a kiss against Bucky's chin.

“Want any help?”

“Nah, I got it,” Bucky signed. “Go get comfortable, baby.”

Clint looked over his shoulder once, twice on the way to the stairs. Bucky watched him go with a heavy feeling in his chest. He’d come to a decision, knew what he needed to do, but that wasn't going to make it any easier.

Bucky dragged a comb through his wet hair, then scowled at his reflection. “Suck it up, Barnes.”

Once he was dressed, Bucky took a deep breath, grabbed the discarded bag of corn, and headed downstairs. The smell of Thai food hit him about halfway down, making his stomach grumble with interest.

Steve was sitting in one chair while Sam occupied the other, plates balanced on their laps as they ate, something or other on the TV. Natasha had set up camp at one end of the couch, and Clint was sprawled across the rest of it, head nestled atop a pillow Natasha had on her lap. The hood was still up and Clint's eyes were closed, but a smile was tugging at one corner of his mouth, and he had a hand hanging over the edge of the couch so he could pet Lucky.

“Hey,” Bucky grunted to the group, heading for the kitchen. Once there, he popped the bag of corn back in the freezer, not surprised to see the ice cube trays had been filled and put back where they belonged.

“I'm sorry, Buck,” Steve said softly, and when Bucky turned around, his brother was standing close, wearing a hangdog expression.

“Me too,” Bucky said after a moment.

“Are you…” Steve shifted from one foot to the other, dragging a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. “It sounded like…”

Bucky sighed and took pity on his brother. “I'm tired, but good. Clint bled all over the bathroom and it freaked me out.”

Steve nodded and reached out, hesitating before settling his hand on Bucky's shoulder and squeezing. “What happened? Before, I mean.”

It really wasn't funny, but Bucky laughed anyway, shaking his head. “Great question. I thought you were goin’ out?”

“I did,” Steve said, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Yeah, well, I thought we were gonna have the place to ourselves for awhile,” Bucky explained, trying to be patient, “so me and Clint took advantage of the _privacy_.”

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it again, eyes narrowing before his face turned pink with embarrassment. Obviously he'd figured out what ‘privacy’ meant. “Geez, Buck, I was gone for over an hour,” he whispered. “How long do you need for... _that_?”

Bucky shut his eyes and counted down from ten, but his jaw was still tight with anger when he opened them again. “Look, I dunno how _you_ have sex, little brother, but I’m big into takin’ my time and enjoying myself, especially before gettin’ fucked in the ass.”

Steve’s face cycled through a half dozen expressions before settling on abject horror. “Christ, Buck, I don’t need to hear—”

“I don’t care if it embarasses you or not,” Bucky hissed, keeping his voice low. “You wanted to know what happened, and that’s what was happenin’ when you crashed the party. Clint couldn’t hear the door opening, but I could and I panicked. Managed to break Clint’s nose with the back of my head in the process.”

“Shit,” Steve said, swallowing. Any signs of irritation were gone, the poleaxed expression having taken over. “Bucky, I’m so—”

“I know you didn’t do it on purpose, Steve,” Bucky interrupted, dragging his hand through his hair. “Chalk it up as a learnin’ experience, okay?”

Steve nodded, but he was looking over his shoulder, attention focused on Clint, who was still curled up on the couch. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Hey,” Bucky said, wanting to be able to see Steve’s face for the next part. “I love you. You know that, right?”

“Of course, Buck,” Steve said without hesitation, the almost perpetual sadness back in his eyes. “I love you, too.”

“I know you do, Stevie. That’s what makes this next bit so hard.” Bucky took a deep breath, stomach churning with discomfort. “Tonight’s made it pretty clear that our current living arrangement ain’t sustainable.”

Steve’s eyes went wide. “Oh.”

Bucky took a deep breath and barreled on, wanting to get through it before he chickened out. “I ain’t kickin’ you out or anythin’, Steve,” he said softly, not wanting Sam or Natasha to hear. “And I don’t wanna see you movin’ back in with the folks, either. I just think it might be time you started lookin’ for your own place, is all.”

Steve ducked his head and smiled sheepishly, hand once again on the back of his neck. “I, ah, might have already started.”

“ _Seriously_?” All of Bucky’s incredulity had made it into his voice, prompting Steve to laugh and give him a playful shove. “How come you never said anythin’?”

“C’mon, Buck. You know how I get when I’m planning,” Steve said, shrugging a shoulder. “I like to have everything worked out in my head in advance before I involve anyone else.”

Bucky eyed his brother, smile slowly taking over his face. Planning was a very good sign where Steve was concerned, and if he wasn’t mistaken, it sounded like there was more to it than just finding a place to live. Bucky had to wonder if that was the reason for Steve’s improved mood as of late, or if Sam had somehow lit a fire under his ass, got him moving toward starting a new life for himself.

“A plan, huh? Wanna clue me in?”

“Soon,” Steve said. “I want to take care of a few loose ends first.”

“Alright. Well, I’m ready to listen whenever you’re ready to talk.” Bucky motioned for Steve to come closer, then wrapped his brother up in a hug. “Sorry if I was snippy earlier.”

“Pretty sure you had a right to be,” Steve said solemnly, squeezing Bucky tight. “And thanks. You and Clint… I know it hasn’t always been easy having me here. I really appreciate everything the two of you have done to help since we got back.”

“You're welcome,” Bucky said, fighting against the urge to downplay the situation.

A wave of relief washed over him, followed by happiness and excitement. The idea of forcing Steve out of the nest had been occupying his thoughts more and more as of late, but Bucky had been worried about how Steve might react. The guy wasn't exactly _stable_ , or anything. If it was just him, he'd have let Steve stay as long as he liked, but there was Clint to think of. Bucky hadn't been able to shake the resignation and sadness that had accompanied Clint's assertion that Steve was the most important person in Bucky's life. Couldn't really blame the guy for coming to that conclusion, though, considering Bucky had been consistently putting Clint second up until that point.

“Go finish your dinner,” Bucky said, slapping Steve on the back.

Steve hesitated a moment, but then nodded and headed back to his seat. Bucky watched him go, sadness and hope warring with each other in his chest. Pushing the feelings aside, he grabbed a plate and loaded it up with food, tucking a fork and a pair of chopsticks in his pocket. Then he thought better of it, popped open the freezer, and grabbed another bag of frozen veggies. After wrapping it in a towel, Bucky tucked the makeshift ice pack under his arm, snagged the plate of food, and headed into the living room.

Natasha tapped Clint to get his attention, then pointed at Bucky when he opened his eyes. Clint tucked his legs in close so Bucky would have room to sit, then perked up when he spotted the food and ice pack. A minute later he was sitting upright again, eating from his half of the plate with the chopsticks and icing his face while he chewed.

As much as Bucky wanted to pull Clint aside and tell him the news, he decided to hold off. He was pretty sure Steve wouldn't mind taking Lucky for his evening walk, and it felt like a conversation that should wait until it he and Clint were alone. And just like that, it hit Bucky, the realization that having time alone with his boyfriend was going to be standard operating procedure again.

Bucky had no idea what was on the TV. Didn't care. He only had eyes for Clint, and by the time they were done eating, Clint was smiling again, all shy and perfect the way he did sometimes.

“Sap,” Clint signed.

Clint stretched out and got himself situated with his head in Natasha's lap again, then tucked his bare feet beneath Bucky's thigh before balancing the bag of frozen veggies on his face. Bucky drank him in for a moment, and when he looked away found Steve watching him with a strange look on his face.

“Okay?” Bucky asked, signing the question out of habit.

And to his surprise, Steve signed back, “Yes,” and shot Bucky a genuine smile, the sort he hadn’t seen on his brother’s face in what felt like a lifetime. “I’m happy for you, that’s all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, still crazy-busy over here and I'm criminally behind in all things in my life, but... I survive! :D 
> 
> Ooooops! Not a fun way to end a steamy sex scene. At least something good will come of it? XD Anyone who read/remembers Steve's propensity for quickies before Tony set him straight will probably get a chuckle out of his comment to Bucky about time needed for doing the do. Also, I made my own heart hurt with Clint's shower conversation there. ~_____~;;; Sorry?


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint makes progress. Natasha is sneaky. The Captain has a plan. Time to get to work.

Clint yawned. The swaying motion of the train coupled with a lack of sleep had his eyes drifting closed and his brain checking out, despite his surroundings. Hands shoved in his pockets, head lolling against the back of the seat, he watched the world whip by through the windows, the changing light periodically presenting him with a reflection of himself superimposed over the scenery of Brooklyn.

The bruising around his eyes and nose had finally shifted into a different color spectrum, but the lingering blotches of purple coupled with the greens and yellows of healing still looked nasty. He’d definitely seen better days, but in the spirit of positivity, Clint reminded himself that he’d looked a hell of a lot worse before.

There’d been a whole awkward and kind of horrible misunderstanding between him and his doctor over how he’d managed to get his nose broken, which required lots of backtracking and assurances on his part. Because of what he was—and more importantly _wasn’t_ —saying, his doctor had come to the conclusion that Clint was in an abusive relationship. As much as Clint appreciated her looking out for her patients, the whole experience had left him feeling sick and shaken and frustrated. The more he attempted to defend Bucky’s honor and explain how wrong she was about his boyfriend, the worse it all had sounded, until Clint finally blurted, “ _Fine_ , I was nailing Bucky from behind when his brother crashed the party, and I got headbutted in the chaos, okay? Jesus, Doc, I was only trying to spare you the gory buttsex details!”

Embarrassing? Yes. But that was better than her thinking he was in danger or something. And after all that drama, asking how he should go about getting hearing aids was a nice way to steer the conversation away from his sex life.

Clint’s fingers curled around the case in his pocket, a nervous sort of guilty feeling washing over him at the thought of putting them on. They were only hearing aids, nothing to be embarrassed about, but coupled with how different the world sounded through them, Clint couldn’t quite bring himself to stick to wearing the things. Not out in public yet, anyway. Home was different.

A smile twisted across Clint’s face, unable to be contained as he thought of the sound of Bucky’s laugh.

_Stupid, lovesick idiot._

He’d cried like a dope during that first appointment with the audiologist. Well, first he’d complained about how loud his own dumb voice had sounded after they were turned on, but then Bucky had said, “What’re you talkin’ about, _dumb_? I love your voice,” and Clint had _heard him_ , so off he went with the waterworks.

Thankfully, Clint and Bucky weren’t the first people to get all emotional in the doctor’s office. The audiologist had stepped out for a minute, leaving the two of them alone, which was real nice. Bucky immediately started telling Clint how much he was loved, making up for lost time, and even though he sounded different through the hearing aids, it still sounded like _his Bucky_ , and so tears and snot and a bunch of weird bottled up emotions came pouring out of Clint.

Once the coast was clear, the doctor had returned and kindly ignored their puffy eyes, making adjustments so that Clint’s own voice no longer sounded like he was shouting. There were explanations of how the Behind the Ear hearing aids worked, how to care for them, what to expect, what _not_ to expect.

He and the audiologist were still fine tuning things to Clint’s particulars, so the hearing aids were more a work in progress than anything else. Hence the guilt. Clint was supposed to be wearing them as much as possible so he could give feedback and participate in the process, but there they were, in his pocket instead.

_Needing time to adjust doesn’t make you a dumb ass._

When it was him and Bucky and the relative peace and quiet of their apartment, Clint had no complaints. Bucky still signed and stuck close and made sure Clint could see his lips when he talked, so between that and the aids it was all easy and pretty fucking exhilarating. Hearing Bucky’s laugh was never going to get old, and neither was hearing Bucky say I love you. Then there were all the _other_ sounds to enjoy. Brand new ones, like whimpers and moans and all the dirty, wonderful things Bucky gasped during sex. Clint was a huge fan of all of that, for sure.

On the other side of the coin, wearing the hearing aids while in a group felt unexpectedly overwhelming, not to mention frustrating. It still required intense concentration on Clint’s part to follow along in conversation. In some respects it was more difficult than when _not_ wearing the aids, because in addition to watching the movement of lips and hands and scoping out social clues, he had a wall of sound coming at him, and had to actively parse through the input in a way he’d never paid much attention to back before losing his hearing.

As tricky as that was, wearing them out in the world was even worse, a sort of onslaught of intrusive sounds that made Clint’s heart race and kept him on high fucking alert. Stupidly, it reminded him of being in the thick of a firefight, where everything was just _noise_ and you desperately tried to filter out whatever wasn’t necessary for keeping you alive and in one piece.

Hearing hadn’t felt like an act of intimacy to Clint before he’d lost most of his, but something had changed. The silence had been like a prison at first, but humans were stupidly adaptable, and he’d kinda gotten used to the new normal. If he wasn’t careful, opening the door to let sound in again felt like he was inviting the entire fucking world to come hang out in his head with him, which might have been tolerable if they were on a farm in Iowa, but they were in New York.

Each time Clint went back to the audiologist, he felt like a failure, even though the doctor assured him that an adjustment period was normal. Even patients who loved their hearing aids chose not to wear them all the time. But knowing something and feeling it were two very different things, so the sense of failure hung around in Clint’s heart.

_You’re a work in progress, Barton. Cut yourself some slack._

The train shuddered to a stop while Clint fought his smile, heading for the door with his fingers still wrapped tightly around the case in his pocket. Doctor Cho was sneaky. She’d dared Clint to try a new approach when it came to dealing with the invasive and often harsh thoughts he had about himself, which involved replaying them in his mind while using Bucky’s voice.

“Ugh, that’s weird,” Clint groaned, rubbing the side of his head. “Bucky’d _never_ say something like that to me.”

Doctor Cho had smiled patiently. “Exactly.”

Maybe she was onto something, because Bucky’s voice had stuck around to join the conversation happening inside of Clint’s head, and he was a hell of a lot more encouraging and supportive to Clint than Clint ever was to himself. It proved once and for all that brains were _weird_ , but it was working, so there was no need to overthink things.

Clint checked his phone to make sure he hadn’t missed a call or text, which happened sometimes because of the vibration of the notifications competing against those of the train. But it was all clear, so he took a deep breath and left the station, scanning his surroundings and trying to take everything in before he started walking toward his destination.

It was a nice enough day for a walk, the streets not too crowded, but without a doubt, Clint was feeling nervous. Steve had sent a text asking if he would be able to meet up for brunch—Steve’s treat. Waffles were a thing Clint loved, so saying yes was an easy choice, but after he sent the reply, his higher brain functions kicked in. Steve had everyone’s schedules memorized, so he would have known that while Clint was available, Bucky was not.

_Stevie loves you, what’s there to be nervous about?_

Which was a good point. It wasn’t like Steve was going to give him some long overdue shovel talk, or get all judgy about his relationship with Bucky the way Barney had. They’d been friends for years, had hung out together without Bucky around _plenty_ of times, even before Steve moved in with them. So what if Steve wanted to share a meal outside of the apartment without Bucky around? That didn’t have to mean Clint had fucked up somehow and was about to get in trouble.

On the other hand, there was always the bombshell Bucky had dropped on him after the whole broken nose fiasco to take into consideration. It might have been a shining moment of awesome for Clint, but Steve was the one getting the short end of the stick, so...

“One more time?”

Bucky’d had the craziest look in his eyes, like he was happy and sad all at once. “I told Steve he needs to find his own place to live,” he’d explained, reaching out to brush his fingertips against Clint’s cheek. “Shoulda done it ages ago, sweetheart. I’m sorry you had to pay the price for me draggin’ my feet.”

“But... it’s _Steve_ ,” Clint said, confused and hopeful and very much in disbelief.

And then whatever it was in Bucky’s eyes had all but _transformed_ his handsome face, that moment in time slowing and stretching like taffy as Bucky smiled and brushed his thumb across Clint’s lower lip.

“Yeah, and you’re _my Clint_. The one and only love of my fuckin’ life,” Bucky said with his mouth and his hand, eyes going all bright and watery with unshed tears. “The most important person in the world to me.”

“Shut up,” Clint said, because stupid shit came out of his mouth sometimes when he was overwhelmed.

“No way. It’s the truth, Clint. I’ll never stop lovin’ my brother, but what I feel for Stevie ain’t got _nothin’_ on the way I feel about you. Here on out, you’re never gonna doubt it, darlin’. I’m gonna make damn sure of that. Prioritize you the way I shoulda been doing from the beginning. You and me and our Super Gay Sunset.”

Clint had grabbed Bucky and kissed him with enough enthusiasm to aggravate his broken nose, but it had been worth the pain. The follow up kiss was gentler, Bucky staring into his eyes and cupping his cheek, apologies and promises and declarations of love being pressed against Clint’s lips over and over again.

According to Bucky, Steve had taken the news well, claimed he'd already started looking for a place of his own. But that was exactly the sort of thing Steve would say in the hopes of ameliorating Bucky’s guilt over having to kick out his brother. Maybe he was doing an end run around Bucky to buy himself more time, or to change Bucky’s mind? If Clint suggested Steve should stay, Bucky wasn’t exactly going to say no.

_Nah. Not Steve’s style._

Which left Clint right back where he’d been when he started; stranded in confusion land. He shrugged to himself, shoved his hands into his pockets a little deeper, and picked up the pace, eyes scanning his surroundings as he went. There were at least a half dozen diners within walking distance of their brownstone and one of them had the kind of waffles dreams were made of. Clint’s dreams, anyway. Steve probably dreamt of kale, because he was weird like that. Whatever. The point was, Steve hadn’t chosen any of the neighborhood diners for their brunch; he’d sent Clint an address along with directions and the time to be there.

Clint experienced a creepy _you’re being watched_ sensation, which to him always felt like someone dragging their fingertips between his shoulder blades. He spun around, not really expecting to find anything or anyone following him, so Clint almost tripped over his own feet in shock when he realized Natasha was a half a block behind and moving swiftly to catch-up.

“Holy shit, Tasha!”

Natasha waved, smile firmly in place. Once she was close enough, she shifted to her tiptoes and pressed a kiss against Clint’s cheek before taking him by the arm. “Steve didn’t mention we’d have company for brunch.”

“Same. I’m kinda relieved, though. No way he’s giving me shit over having to move out if you’re here.”

The eyeroll this got him made Clint smile and relax. “Whatever this is, it’s about something bigger than domestic discomforts. Steve’s been up to something for over a month now.”

“Huh?”

Natasha scanned their surroundings, as if worried Steve might be lurking in an alleyway listening to them gossip. “He’s been heading to three separate locations for his late night runs. He’ll stop to scribble in his notebook, then runs through approximately a six-block radius before circling back and heading home. For the last week he’s been primarily focused on this neighborhood.”

“Bucky said he’s been working on finding a place to live,” Clint explained, hating the sick feeling that was settling into his stomach.

“None of the locations have vacancies,” Natasha said, and Clint didn’t need to hear her tone of voice to appreciate the _keep up_ vibe she was putting out. Which was fair. Natasha was nothing if not thorough; she would have already considered Steve was looking for new digs.

“Wait a second,” Clint said, brain finally catching up with the conversation, “have you been spying on Steve?”

“Of course,” she answered, head tilting ever to one side, “but only after he began acting suspicious.”

Clint shrugged himself free of Natasha’s grip so he could rub his temples. “Wow, okay,” he mumbled. “I’m not allowed to be the most well adjusted person in the group, Tasha, that’s just _terrifying_!”

Natasha smacked his shoulder. “Keeping an eye on your friends when they’re in trouble isn’t maladjusted,” she said once Clint was looking at her again.

“Do I even wanna know how you managed to follow him without Steve catching on? ‘Cause I’ve seen the guy out in the wild and he’s on high fucking alert.” Clint watched as Natasha’s eyes darted, looking up for a beat before she smiled, which made him groan all over again. “The rooftops? _Really_? Natasha, what if—”

“I’m careful,” she interrupted, reaching out to wrap her fingers around his wrist.

Clint shifted so they were holding hands, instead, because Bucky spent so much time with his fingers wrapped around one or the other of Clint’s wrists that they felt like they were some super special and intimate part of his body.

Natasha took a deep breath and squeezed Clint’s fingers. “I was worried he might do something drastic,” she explained, and Clint’s unease made a comeback. “It might not even be a conscious decision on his part. Running around certain neighborhoods at two in the morning is risky. I was half convinced he was out looking for opportunities to intervene on someone else’s behalf.”

“What, like a crime fighting vigilante or something?” Clint asked, eyes going wide. Natasha shrugged. “No. No way. He doesn’t—”

“I’m not accusing him of anything, Hawkeye,” Natasha said, shaking her head, the frustration evident in her eyes. “Whatever’s going on with Steve is part of a bigger plan. It might even be a good thing. I thought you might want the SITREP before we headed in, that’s all.”

Clint chewed on his lower lip, nerves getting the best of him. “Yeah, fair enough,” he mumbled, fishing his phone out to check the time, “but we’re gonna regroup later on the whole parkour stalker thing, Tasha. Otherwise it’s gonna escalate until you’re tailing Steve, I’m following you, and Bucky’s shadowing me.”

“Come on, let’s not be late, or the Captain will get cranky. Whatever this is about, Steve’s ready to talk. That’s big.”

After taking a deep breath, Clint let his shoulders sag and forced some casual back into his posture, even though his heart was racing and he wanted to send Sam and Bucky about twenty SOS text messages. “Fine. We do it your way.”

Natasha patted his cheek, shifted to wrap her arm around his again, and then led the way. Sure enough, Steve was already inside and waiting for them, sitting at a booth next to one of the large windows. Clint smiled and waved from the other side of the glass before they headed inside, hoping he didn’t seem as spooked as he felt.

For his part, Steve looked good in a way Clint hadn’t seen since leaving the Army. As he stood to greet them, there was a sense of focus in his eyes and an underlying sense of purposefulness to his body language that had been missing.

“Clint, Natasha,” he said, reaching out to shake their hands before sitting back down in the booth he’d chosen for them. “Thanks for coming.”

“No prob, Cap,” Clint answered, sliding onto the bench opposite Steve. A menu was waiting for him, folded so as to showcase the diner’s selection of waffles.

Natasha took the empty seat next to Steve, which would make following the conversation easier.

_Why not give it a go? Can’t get used to something if you never try._

Clint slumped a little in defeat, because it was tough arguing with the logic of his inner-Bucky. Mostly ‘case he was right. The anxiety and stress that came along with Clint’s whole spiraling avoidance cycle was probably worse than just doing the thing, anyway. So, before he lost his nerve, Clint fished a hand into his pocket, pulled out the case, and ducked his head, feeling cripplingly self conscious while putting the hearing aids on.

When he managed to look up again, Steve and Tasha were carefully perusing their menus, making a point of not staring, or commenting on what had happened. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Clint thumbed the hearing aids on and let the world in, focusing on his breathing and reminding himself that everything was cool and normal. He was just a dude having brunch with his friends, no big deal.

_See? You got this. Now when the doc asks questions about wearing ‘em you’ll have answers._

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint muttered, feeling awkward and proud of himself, but mostly under-caffeinated. “How’s the coffee in this place?” he asked, and damn if it wasn’t thrilling to hear his own voice again.

“Good, actually,” Steve answered, and he even sounded relaxed. “The apple pie is also top notch.”

Across the table, Natasha caught his eye, as if to direct his attention to the fact that Steve had been to the diner before, likely more than once if pie was involved. Clint was already right there with her, scratching the back of his head as he glanced out the window. There wasn’t anything much to be seen, no real reason he could imagine for Steve’s repeated visits.

“Huh, maybe I’ll get the apple pie waffles, then,” Clint said. “How’d this place wind up on your radar, anyway?”

Beneath the table, Natasha tapped against Clint’s shin with her shoe, as if he needed a warning to tread carefully. Steve didn’t seem upset by the question, though, even if he opted to answer mysteriously.

“We’ll get to all that after ordering.”

Clint shrugged and tried to ignore the looks Natasha was sending his way, which was easy since he had a lot of other stuff competing for his attention. Some sounds in the diner could be picked out and isolated, while others were like white noise. All of it was distracting and keyed up his anxiety, so Clint fished out his phone to pull up a photo he’d taken the day before.

Bucky had been captured mid-laugh and was half hanging off the couch, Lucky on top of him and licking his face enthusiastically. Maybe it was lame, or a symptom of crippling codependency, but seeing Bucky’s smile made it easier to relax, so Clint didn’t much care. He stared and stared, letting love and appreciation wash everything else away.

“Welcome back, hon,” someone said, making Clint jump in his seat.

A waitress had materialized at his side out of nowhere, so Clint shoved the phone back in his pocket, fighting against a wave of sudden embarrassment. It wasn’t like he’d been looking at something X-rated, but Bucky had been off limits for years. It would probably take some time before Clint’s lizard brain accepted that he was _allowed_ to moon over the man.

“These the friends you were telling me about?”

“Hey, Deirdre.” Steve smiled one of what Clint thought of as his boy scout smiles, and made introductions, finishing with, “Don’t worry, I’ll get Sam and Bucky in here soon.”

Natasha’s expression was priceless, would have been hilarious if Clint wasn’t waiting for some other horrible shoe to drop. His brain was going all sorts of crazy trying to figure out why Steve had brought them there when it occurred to Clint that Deirdre could be related to someone they’d lost. Maybe Steve had been trekking out to this part of Brooklyn because he thought he had to make amends, or something? Even on his best days, you could see the loss and guilt was weighing on Cap.

Deirdre seemed oblivious to Clint’s confusion as he shook her hand, so if there was any mystery connection to their people, chances were Steve hadn’t sprung it on her yet. Clint found himself hoping she was just someone who had gotten caught up in Steve’s web of politeness. It was hard not to take an instant liking to the woman, and not only because she’d brought a pot of coffee along with her. She had a really nice smile and gave off motherly vibes. It’d suck if someone she loved had gotten blown to smithereens, as Clint knew firsthand; they were all dealing with that reality eight times over.

Clint could see Natasha’s brain working across the table, but she only ordered a very Natalie Rushman sort of breakfast when she opened her mouth, which was probably for the best. There was no telling how their fearless leader might react if Tasha started probing Deirdre for the whens and wheres and how longs of her relationship with Steve. Clint followed suit, trying to act like a normal, well adjusted customer, and asked Deirdre to bring him her favorite of the diner’s many waffle offerings.

Deirdre scribbled away on her notepad, making a point of teasing Steve over the predictability of his order before she left. Clint grabbed his coffee and sipped away, not caring that it was too hot and burnt his tongue. His hands and mouth needed to be occupied before the anxiety prompted him to do something stupid with them.

“Thanks for being patient with me,” Steve said, the familiar Captain Rogers tone of voice in full effect. As he spoke, Steve reached beneath the table and pulled out a sketchbook, the tiniest flicker of doubt visible in his eyes for a moment before he made up his mind and set it down. “I take it you’re already aware this outing is about more than brunch?”

Natasha smiled and made a minute adjustment to her silverware. “We _are_ suspicious types,” she answered in a sing-song. “We’re also your friends. Take the time you need, we’re not going anywhere.”

“What she said,” Clint added, gripping his mug a little tighter. “Whatever’s going down, we got your back.”

Steve nodded, mouth pressed into a thin line, brows furrowed. Clint half expected him to argue with them, try to talk them out of their loyalty, but instead, he simply said, “Thank you. That means a lot,” in that extra special sort of heartfelt way that was pure Steve Rogers.

Clint watched Steve’s fingers trace the edge of the sketchbook, poised to flip it open, and braced himself for impact. Only, Steve’s shoulders were squared and his expression one of pure determination, no sign of impending tears or heartbreaking confessions to be found in his eyes.

“This transition has been a difficult one,” Steve said, looking each of them in the eyes in turn. “We’ve all struggled one way or another. Some of us more than others,” he added, a self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I miss the structure and the sense of purpose of our old way of life.”

“Bet you don’t miss the food, though,” Clint said.

To his surprise, Steve smiled at the lame attempt at humor. “No, not really. The longer we’ve been in New York, the more I’ve come to realize that working together as a team—a family—is what I miss the most.”

“We’re still family,” Natasha said, pressing her shoulder against Steve’s.

Steve nodded his agreement. “True, but it’s only a matter of time before we’re required to start the next phase of our lives. Careers, new relationships. Things change, people move on. It’s hard to say where we’ll all wind up in the end.”

Clint groaned and slumped down in his seat. “C’mon, man, I’m trying real hard to get a grip on the basics right now. Thinking about how the hell I’m gonna get a job makes me wanna _puke_. I pretty much suck at everything that isn’t the Army.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Hawkeye,” Steve said with conviction, sitting up straighter, as if to balance out Clint’s defeated posture. “In fact, my faith in you and your talent is one of the reasons we’re sitting at this table today.”

Natasha didn’t hold back when kicking him under the table this time, prompting Clint to yelp and sit up straight. “Go on,” she said, giving Steve her full attention.

And it felt weird, all of a sudden, that Steve wasn’t in uniform, because everything about him in that moment reminded Clint of countless other times, when their Captain had stood tall and prepared them for a mission, confidence, determination, and a sense of inevitable victory shining around the man like an aura.

“I for one don’t like the idea of taking orders from someone else,” Steve said, “or watching any of us float from one unfulfilling job to another. We’re talented, we trust and respect one another, and work well together. More importantly, we work _hard_ and we’re willing to fight for what we believe in.”

Clint’s heart was racing, but the anxiety had bled out, was being replaced with something like excitement. He held his breath and leaned closer, not wanting to miss a single word.

“I’m opening a tattoo parlor,” Steve announced, “and it’s my sincere hope that you’ll both agree to work there as artists.”

Mouth hanging open, Clint looked to Natasha to make certain he hadn’t gotten it wrong. She looked equal parts intrigued and surprised. Steve, on the other hand, was all business, flipping open the sketchbook and turning it so his friends would have a good line of sight.

“I evaluated a half-dozen possible locations before settling on this neighborhood,” Steve explained, tapping a drawing of a storefront bedecked with a sign reading SHIELD Tattoo. “The shop would be right across the street, to be exact.”

And sure enough, when Clint turned to look over the block once more, the building in question was right there, a For Sale sign with near illegible numbers scrawled on it tacked onto one corner of a boarded up window.

“Holy shit,” Clint blurted, almost knocking over his coffee as he made a grab for the mug to take another sip. “You’re _serious_. How the hell are you—”

“The financial side of things is already worked out,” Steve interrupted. “There are two apartments above the storefront. I’ll live in one and the other can continue to be rented out, generating income. Between my savings, VA loans, and help from my folks, I’ll be in good shape for the property itself. As far as the business goes, everything is commission based. The more clients we take on, the more revenue we generate. Aside from the bare necessities, everything I earn will be going to SHIELD until I’m back in the black. Assuming you and Natasha agree to work for me, the first year needs to be at least a sixty-forty split in favor of the shop for this to work. After that, we’ll establish a regular schedule for renegotiation; once the business is turning a profit it’s only fair that you take home a higher percentage for yourselves.”

Clint’s head would have been spinning if he could get any response from his brain at all. It had gone dead silent up there in shock, or confusion. Natasha’s face was a mask of calm, but the rate at which she was blinking told Clint she was equally surprised.

“An interesting proposition,” Natasha said, studying the drawing. She reached out, perfectly manicured fingers poised above the edge of the sketchbook, asking “May I?” and getting a nod of approval before turning the page.

The next sheet was covered with floor plans, measurements and notations in the margins. The available space was divided up between what Clint assumed was a reception area, workstations, a back office, and a bathroom.

“The space isn’t large,” Steve explained, “but I know we could make it work.”

Steve took his time turning the pages, floor plans being replaced with mock ups of everything from the set up for the display window out front to the decorations in the bathroom. Color swatches, drawings of light fixtures, prices for materials, and more of Steve’s precise handwriting was to be found. He’d even taken the time to describe the aesthetic goals for each aspect of the decor.

“What about equipment?” Natasha asked, flipping back a few pages so she could study one of the workstation mockups.

“Everyone is responsible for their own gear,” Steve said, moving the sketchbook aside as Deirdre approached with their food. He paused to thank her before continuing, Clint and Natasha following suit. “Which also means it’s your property. If you sign on and then change your mind later, it goes with you, along with your custom flash and the portfolio you establish while working at the shop.”

Natasha opened her mouth, but whatever she’d planned on saying was drowned out by Clint’s laughter. It wasn’t intentional or anything, but once he started it was really hard to stop.

_Idiot. Steve’s gonna think you’re laughing at him!_

“Sorry, sorry,” Clint swore, wiping at his eyes and trying to get himself back under control. “This is… shit, Steve, it’s _awesome_ , honest. Like, dream job awesome, but, uh…”

Steve sat up straighter, breakfast burrito all but forgotten. “But what?”

Clint shrugged and stared down at his waffles, a wave of emotions crashing down on him. Excitement, relief, hope, happiness, and all of that was good, _but_ … “No way in hell people are gonna pay _me_ their hard earned cash. Especially not if they could have you or Tasha doing their piece.” Clint shoved a forkful of waffle into his mouth, adding, “I’d only be dead weight,” with another halfhearted shrug.

“Bullshit,” Steve snapped, fist hitting the table hard enough to make their plates shake. “I understand I’m asking a lot on trust, but at the end of the day _I’m_ the one assuming all of the financial risk, here. If tattooing professionally isn’t something you’re interested in, that’s one thing, but don’t think for a minute that I can afford to make job offers out of pity or a sense of obligation. Especially not while I’m trying to get the business established.”

Steve didn’t look angry, exactly, but he was sure as hell bristling with intensity. Clint sat up straighter and looked to Natasha for support.

“So, you’ll be moving ahead with the plan whether we agree or not?” she asked, one eyebrow arched.

“I will,” Steve answered without hesitation, “but in all honesty, the odds won’t be in my favor without you. And by that I mean _both_ of you. I’ve done my research and reconnaissance. In my opinion, each of you has something unique and highly marketable to bring to the shop. More importantly, I trust you. That goes a long way.”

That inner asshole of Clint’s wanted to pipe up again, remind him that shit didn’t work out like that in the real world. No way he could get paid doing something he loved, right? That was crazy talk. Except… what if it wasn’t?

One look at Steve and it was obvious he meant every word he’d said. When Clint shoved his doubts and self esteem issues aside for a minute, what it really boiled down to was this: _Steve needed his help_. Somehow, he’d fought through his depression long enough to come up with a game plan for a new life—one that benefitted his friends, too—and Steve didn’t think he’d be able to do it without Clint’s help.

_Makes it a hell of a lot easide to say yes, doesn’t it, sweetheart?_

“Fuck it. If you think I’ll be an asset, that’s good enough for me,” Clint announced, reaching across the table to shake Steve’s hand. “I’m all in.”

Steve’s grip was strong as he shook, gratitude and relief right there in his eyes. “Thank you, Clint,” he said, all sincere intensity. “You don’t have to take my word for it, you know. Check out the local competition like I did. Your work blows them away.”

Clint grinned down at his waffles like a dope, not sure what to do with the compliment, let alone the bubbling excitement. Hoping and dreaming felt dangerous, but taking a chance on a new career didn’t seem so insane compared to how the rest of his life had been playing out. Besides, there were eight good people who’d lost the opportunity to ever take another risk. Whether or not it was sane, a part of Clint felt like he owed it to their friends to _try_ at least.

“Thanks, man,” Clint said, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I’ll do that. Maybe drag Bucky along with me for recon, like old times.”

“You should. I’d love his take on the competition,” Steve said.

Natasha smiled at Clint—one of her real deal smiles that only came out on special occasions—and the look in her eyes made Clint feel proud of himself for reasons he couldn’t explain. He was pretty sure she’d been on board as soon as Steve had offered, but had held back on accepting until Clint decided one way or another.

“Count me in as well, Captain,” she said, offering her hand.

“Thank you,” and then Steve was smiling too. “Having the two of you in the trenches with me… Well, let’s just say that’s a big weight off my mind.”

Natasha gave Steve’s shoulder a pat, smile still firmly in place. “So, tell me about the aesthetic you’re going for.”

“Sophisticated,” Steve answered immediately. “I know I’m not the only person at this table who considers tattoos art. We treat the medium with the respect it deserves. No neon, no purchasing flash...”

As Steve explained his vision, Clint tucked back into his waffles and tried to imagine how Bucky would react to the good news. It was about a hell of a lot more than Clint getting a job. After everything that had happened, Bucky would see this for what it was; proof that Steve hadn’t given up on life.

And so Clint let himself hold onto the warmth and happiness and hope that came along for the ride as the three of them began to talk logistics, fingers itching for a pencil and paper, ready to get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No ~~sexy~~ crazy injuries this week, thankfully! Good on Clint for trying to reset his inner critic though. Uh... I should have better notes, but I've been working 2 jobs lately and I almost forgot it was Friday.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve moves out. Bucky stresses out.

Steve moving out of the apartment was tougher on Bucky than he'd expected it to be. Sam had tried to warn him that there’d be a readjustment period, but Bucky had been so ready to get back to the life he’d been building with Clint that he’d dismissed the concerns, even tried to convince Sam it’d be no big deal.

After all, there was plenty to be distracted by, like seeing how happy Clint was now that they had privacy again. In fact, Clint’s wholehearted approval was made perfectly clear about two minutes after the door shut behind Steve. Clint had waited to make sure the coast was clear and Steve wasn’t going to reappear to grab something he forgot, then danced Bucky over to the couch and spent the next hour or so making him moan and shake and beg.

Which had been _awesome_ , really. It wasn’t like they’d become celibate after Steve moved in, but the necessarily clandestine nature of their sex life had never managed to become the naughty, exciting scene Bucky had imagined it could be. Add in the broken nose fiasco and that was a big Game Over for Bucky. The whole situation still left him feeling sick with guilt, even if Clint was all healed up now and had moved on to thinking it was hilarious.

To Bucky, it felt luxurious and maybe even brand spanking new all over again to have the time and space and privacy to indulge in pleasure with Clint, like the whole world ceased to exist in the most beautiful possible way. Nothing to think about or care about except the warmth of Clint’s skin, the taste of him, the joy of being wrapped up in the man’s arms. No fear of interruption. No need to keep quiet. In fact, with the hearing aids in play, louder was better, the sounds seeming to stoke Clint’s passion.

After had been awesome, too, being able to lounge right where they were, naked on the couch. Bucky sighed and appreciated how nice it was to be tangled up with Clint, drifting in and out of sleep as they took turns listing off the things they could do again now that they had the place to themselves.

“I can buy whatever I want from the grocery store,” Clint had mumbled against Bucky’s shoulder, the smile and excitement evident in his voice, “even shitty frozen breakfast sammiches.”

Stupid as it seemed, hearing that had made Bucky feel awful and guilty and sad all over again, because the person he loved most in the world hadn’t even been able to eat the foods he liked thanks to Bucky’s unilateral decision making process.

“Never again, baby, I promise,” Bucky said, drawing a line in the sand of his mind. He shifted around until he could kiss Clint and see his eyes. “I’m done with that shit from here on out. No more special exceptions or assumptions. We’ll decide things as a team.”

Clint stared up into Bucky’s eyes for a long moment, searching and cataloging, as if he could see right into Bucky’s mind. “The _best_ team,” Clint countered, pulling Bucky into another kiss.

“Only team that matters,” Bucky had agreed, losing himself to the kiss, feeling loose and relaxed again.

“Love you,” Clint said between kisses, “and I forgive you. Don’t keep beating yourself up about the Steve thing. And as much as it’s cool to have our home back, I know you’re gonna miss him, too.”

And because Clint was his partner and best friend and a big softie, he switched over to listing the things he’d miss now that Steve was no longer their roommate, making it that much easier for Bucky to be comfortable with the conflict in his heart.

Heading to bed that evening, Bucky had been thinking of how much better he’d sleep without having to worry about Steve’s nightmares, but it turned out his brother kept him awake whether he was in the apartment or not.

Having Lucky curled up beside Steve to keep watch and wake him up before the nightmares got screaming bad had made a big difference for Steve’s sleep. Only, Lucky was back in his customary spot at the foot of their bed, half draped over Clint’s legs, and Steve was all alone in an empty apartment. Bucky could see it clear as day in his mind, Steve pacing the night away, moving from window to window, waiting out the sun. Or maybe his brother would go for one of his late night runs, only if something happened while he was out and he never came home, no one would know.

Bucky tossed and turned all night long, and did the same the night after and the one after that. Nevermind that he’d stopped in to visit his brother and found Steve looking surprisingly well rested and energetic. The apartment didn’t have any furniture to speak of and the walls were covered with blueprints and plans for SHIELD, but Steve was upbeat and happy to see Bucky. In fact, Steve seemed to be handling the transition better than Bucky, which was confusing.

“Buck, I swear, your brother is gonna punch you in the face if you show up at his place with a puppy.”

“Fine, not a puppy then, but—”

“ _Do not_ give the dude a dog,” Clint interrupted, looking up from his sketchbook. “I know you mean well, but he’s busy as fuck trying to keep everything on schedule for the shop. Don’t do it.”

“But—”

Despite having his hearing aids on, Clint’s hands whipped around as he signed in agitation, mouth pressed into a thin line. “He’s focused on something positive and building a future for himself, what more do you fucking want?”

“Yeah, but what happens when there’s nothing left to do?” Bucky asked. “He’s got a distraction _now_ , but it ain’t gonna last forever, Clint, and then it’s just him, rattlin’ around all alone in that fuckin’ place. No tables, no chairs, no couch, no nothin’. He doesn’t even own a bed! It’s like a squatter set up shop and—”

“Whoa, calm down.”

Bucky hadn’t meant to, but by the end there he’d been all but shouting, was shaking with anger and fear, which was probably why Clint had abandoned his sketchbook and crossed the room to take Bucky by the shoulders.

“I’m sorry, I know you’re scared,” Clint said, stroking Bucky’s cheek, “but you can’t watch him every minute of every day.”

“I know that,” Bucky croaked, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

“He’s doing way better these days,” Clint swore. “Steve’s excited and planning. That’s big, right?” Bucky nodded his agreement. “Well there you go.”

“It’s _after_ I’m worried about.” Bucky took a deep breath and rested his forehead against Clint’s. “When it’s a wrap and the shop isn’t new and shiny anymore.”

“Getting it built is only the beginning, Buck,” Clint said. “We got a whole lot of work ahead of us. Building a client base, getting the word out, turning a profit. Ever occur to you that Steve’s lack of furniture is less a cry for help and more ‘cause he’s putting every penny into his _future_?”

Bucky sighed. “I guess. I can’t… _Fuck_. It’s tough, shakin’ the fear, you know? You’re all really good at what you do, it’s only a matter of time before SHIELD is runnin’ itself, and then… What’s to stop Steve from convincing himself you and Tasha can handle it on your own?”

“Aw, Bucky.” And Clint pulled him into the tightest of hugs, rocked him back and forth, stroking his back and his hair, until Bucky felt like he could breathe again. “We’re not gonna let that happen. Me and Natasha will be there with him every day, you’re gonna be around the shop all the time. There’s your dads and Parker. He even has Sam now. Steve’s gonna get through this, I know it.”

“Doesn’t feel like enough,” Bucky said, mouth trembling. He took a deep, shaky breath and exhaled raggedly. “I want him to have an undeniable reason to stick around, ya know? Something beautiful, that’s all his, like what I got with you, sweetheart. If Steve had something like that…” Bucky shook his head and swallowed. “Shit, if I could get him into therapy at least—”

“Uh, which reminds me. I overheard him telling Natasha you sound like a brainwashed cult member on the whole therapy front, so you might want to dial it down a notch if you actually want him to consider giving it a try.”

“You’re kiddin’ me? Where the hell does he—”

“You work it into _every_ conversation these days, Buck,” Clint interrupted, eyes serious even if he was smiling in an attempt to soften the blow.

“That’s bullshit!”

“Nope. It’s hella accurate.” Clint’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t get me wrong, we were all impressed you managed to find a way to segue from pizza toppings into different types of therapy, but, ah, it’s a bit much.”

Bucky was getting real sick of ping-ponging between emotional extremes, wanted to settle back into something resembling stability already. His outrage had washed away the misery, which was both good and bad, since Clint hadn’t done anything wrong. No, Clint was definitely right—of course he was—but knowing was one thing; feeling was another.

The worst part was, Bucky knew Clint could tell how pissed off he was, because Clint looked an awful lot like he was bracing for impact. That was enough to send Bucky spiraling right back down into guilt and misery.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Bucky huffed, dragging his hand through his hair. “You’re only tryin’ to get my back and I’m bitin’ your head off for it. I’m not mad at you, honest, baby.”

“C’mon, I know that, Buck.” Clint ducked his head and pressed a kiss against Bucky’s chin, making him smile despite everything. “Wanna go to group tonight? I’ll come with.”

“Yeah. Great idea,” Bucky agreed, letting Clint pull him into another hug. “See? This is what I’m talkin’ about. If Stevie had someone like you in his life, I wouldn’t have to worry about the punk.”

Clint sighed dramatically, sticking out his lower lip to direct the exhalation upward, so that his bangs fluttered. “Please tell me you don’t have someone lined up for him?”

“Calm down, I ain’t ready to start matchmakin’ yet.”

“Okay, the yet in that sentence worries me.”

“There ain’t nothin’ to worry about,” Bucky said, raising his hand in surrender. It wasn’t like Steve was actually ready for a relationship anyway, so there was no point arguing. “No puppies, no settin’ him up with hot nurses from the VA, no—”

Clint’s eyes narrowed again. “Hot nurses?”

“Not hot to me,” Bucky insisted, realizing his mistake, “hot to Steve.”

“ _Right_ ,” Clint drawled, folding his arms across his chest, “because your bro is big into sharing his opinion on someone’s hotness.”

For a wild, awful moment, Bucky thought Clint was legitimately upset, was maybe second guessing his own attractiveness, or worrying that Bucky had a wandering eye, but then he caught the little telltale twitch at the corner of Clint’s mouth and relaxed.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky snapped, prompting Clint to burst out laughing. Bucky gave Clint’s shoulder a little shove before kissing him hard. “You know I only got eyes for you.”

“Oh man, your face.” Clint snickered to himself even as he kissed back. “Walked right into that one, Buck.”

“Yeah yeah,” Bucky grumbled, but it was hard to pretend he was annoyed when Clint was smiling at him like he hung the moon. “Thanks.”

“For what?” Clint asked, still smiling.

“Literally everything, darlin’,” Bucky said, “startin’ from way back when we first met.”

“We hated each other when we first met,” Clint pointed out, settling his hands at the small of Bucky’s back and rocking him side to side.

Bucky snorted. “Fine, then start the count from ten minutes after that, when we became best friends.”

“It’s gonna be okay, Buck,” Clint said, and because it was Clint, Bucky let himself believe, even if only for a moment. “You’ll see.”

“Pretty sure as long as I got you, everything’s gonna be aces.”

Clint’s smile was all wobbly and it looked an awful lot like he was blushing, but he distracted Bucky by kissing him again, deep and slow and possessive.

Somehow, they managed to disentangle themselves before the evening went off the rails, but after group that night Bucky made sure they picked up where they had left off. After, with Clint snoring softly beside him and Lucky snuggled up at his feet, Bucky finally managed a decent night’s sleep.

Still, no matter how hard he tried to shake it, Bucky couldn’t let go of that worm of doubt. That Steve's improvements were a smokescreen, would dissolve into nothingness once SHIELD was established. At least Xavier was crafty and let him vent about his brother while simultaneously steering Bucky back toward focusing on his own problems. Good thing, too, since he had shit to deal with that had nothing to do with Steve.

Slowly but surely, he’d worked his way up the waiting list, which meant his bionic replacement arm was less of a maybe someday situation and more like an any month now one. And that was good and even exciting, but also terrifying and occasionally depressing as hell.

The idea that there’d be rankings for disabilities had never occurred to Bucky until he found himself being evaluated for his benefits and learned he got bonus points for losing his dominant hand. Knowing there were spreadsheets and formulas for that sort of thing pissed him off to no end, even if it was practical. Yeah, it sucked extra hard that he was left handed, but Bucky had a hell of a time wrapping his head around the idea of someone telling him it didn’t count as much if he’d lost his right arm instead.

The same sort of bureaucracy was folded into the prosthetic program. Having lost his dominant hand was a qualifier there, too, but at least that was because there was a higher success rate in those instances. Then there was the phantom limb pain—another requirement—and having to explain how and when it manifested in detail to people over and over again. Having to wear a monitor so they could make sure he wasn’t faking the frequency or severity of the instances.

Bucky wasn't a fan of the monitoring. Instead of dreading another attack he had to worry about not having any at all and looking like a liar. It happened, of course, more than once, but even as he was writhing in pain, Bucky was terrified the monitor wasn't set up correctly and wouldn't pick up anything all.

Whatever data the device captured made the technician whistle and shoot Bucky a sympathetic look. Bucky kept his mouth shut, because the results meant he moved onto the next phase. Bucky had gone through blood tests, physicals, stress tests, drug tests, mountains of paperwork, had signed permission slips from his therapist, and they _still_ looked at him like he was trying to pull one over on them.

The contracts they’d made him sign didn’t help with the sense of unease at all. Technically, when it was all said and done, Bucky wouldn’t even own the arm; it’d still be the property of the US government. What the hell did they think he was going to do, cut it off and sell it on the black market? And what happened if they changed their mind? Bucky didn’t exactly expect them to come knocking and demand he give it back, but there was always that chance.

Clint had to be sick of hearing him rant about, “fuckin’ assholes with their white coats and clipboards,” but he never complained, and always managed to calm Bucky down after one of his tougher appointments. Hell, Clint was probably happy to hear Bucky ranting about something other than Steve for a change.

The whole situation made him feel like a labrat, to the extent that Bucky came close to quitting the program a couple times. If he didn’t have Clint, Xavier, and Sam in his life, Bucky would have flown off the handle and told the VA where they could stick their fancy fucking arm, screwing himself in the process. Anyone rejected from the program for any reason was flagged in the system for five years, not that Bucky trusted them to actually give someone a second chance down the line.

Somehow, he’d successfully jumped through all of their hurdles and was far enough along in the process that they had him coming in for weekly checkups to make sure nothing had changed. When the date for surgery was finally set he’d be ready to go. No pressure. Not like every time his phone rang his heart went plunging into his stomach with equal parts excitement and dread.

Bucky had no idea how much sensation he’d get from the bionic arm, but he’d been hooked up to electrodes and all sorts of other fancy shit in the lab and had been able to make their test arm move just by closing his eyes and imagining. Being able to do that when he didn’t even have the neural implant yet was a big deal, apparently. As far as the doctors were concerned, unless his body outright rejected the prosthetic for some crazy reason, Bucky was going to have a fully operational, pain free arm again.

As much as he liked to pretend he did just fine without, there was plenty Bucky missed about having two arms and two hands. There was basic shit to consider, which he’d gotten pretty damn good at doing one handed. Everything took longer and required a lot of thinking things through, but he did just fine. Then there were the _other_ things.

In the plus column, Bucky had mostly come to terms with the ways his body had changed since losing the arm. Clint played a big part in that. There was no denying he thought every last inch of Bucky was sexy, which was ironic or something, because Bucky’s lingering hangups had to do with sex.

Back in the day it’d never been like it was with Clint, since all Bucky was doing was chasing orgasms with strangers. With Clint sex was about a whole lot more than a happy ending.

Clint always made him feel _so good_. Bucky’s magnificent bastard of a boyfriend knew exactly when and where and _how_ to touch Bucky to maximize sensation, or drag out pleasure until Bucky was drooling into the sheets and begging for more. The things that man could do with his fingers? Unbelievable. Being on the receiving end, knowing how amazing it felt to have Clint deep inside of him and everywhere at once, it all left Bucky desperate to reciprocate in ways that would be tricky with only the one hand.

Bucky hadn’t gotten any complaints about his bedroom technique, but Clint had been dropping not so subtle hints as of late that he was curious what all the dick-in-the-butt fuss was about. They had privacy again and Bucky had been fantasizing about Clint’s ass for years, so it was a no brainer, right? Time to break out the lube and get down to business. Except… there was that tiny, inescapable feeling of inadequacy lurking around the back alleyways of Bucky’s mind. Clint was _really good_ in bed—shockingly good, if Bucky was being honest—and Bucky wasn’t certain he’d live up to the standard Clint had set.

As it was, Bucky counted on Clint to compensate for stability issues in certain positions, or to offer Bucky a helping hand when his own was busy keeping him upright or balanced. Taking over the show was going to require a level of concentration and coordination on Bucky's part that could potentially detract from the overall experience.

Balance would be easier with two arms. He’d be able to finger Clint’s ass while jerking him off, get him nice and warmed up. Two hands would be useful for keeping hold of Clint’s hips while fucking him clean across the mattress, were necessary for pinning Clint's arms above his head while playing with his dick, all while pumping into him nice and slow and… the list sort of went on and on.

Bucky had made up his mind, though. Maybe he’d fall short of the mark, and Clint’s first time bottoming wouldn’t be the eye opening, life changing experience it had been for Bucky, but that was no reason not to try. The sooner the better, too. It'd probably be simpler once he had the prosthetic, but there was always the chance one of them would get hit by a bus before that happened. Bucky didn't want to miss out on sharing something beautiful with Clint because of a stupid case of performance anxiety.

All that aside, the item that was actually at the tippy top of Bucky’s list of things to do with two arms was something simple and sappy. He just wanted to hold onto Clint, wrap him up tight and safe and _so fucking close_ , the way Clint did with him. Bucky was going to hug Clint over and over again, every chance he got, lift him off the ground and spin the fucker around in a circle like they were in some sort of cheesy movie. Imagining the moment was like a meditation for Bucky, was something to play over in his mind when he needed a reason to smile.

With everything going on, Bucky was grateful to have Clint’s new career as a distraction. He'd shifted into support mode, offering pep talks and one-handed shoulder rubs whenever Clint needed them. Bucky made it his mission to help ease Clint’s adjustment to the hearing aids, kept him well fed, well caffeinated, and as relaxed as possible while he scrambled to fill sketchbooks with tattoo ideas.

Clint was determined to have a kickass portfolio and custom flash art ready for when the shop opened up. If he wasn’t sketching, or practicing his technique using synthetic skin and the tattoo gun Natasha had provided, Clint was reading up on the industry and conducting his own brand of market research. He looked tired and frazzled, but Clint was more positive than he’d been in ages, so Bucky wasn’t about to complain. No, he’d happily allow Clint to drag him to tattoo parlor after tattoo parlor, taking note of price ranges, the atmosphere of the shops, the quality of work offered, and even the type of music being played.

After a week of spying on the competition, Clint’s confidence was boosted, and the low key panic he’d been exuding after accepting Steve’s job offer morphed into excitement. That meant Bucky got to benefit from the second hand positivity and bask in the glow of a happy, productive, and determined as hell Clint Barton.

The shop wasn’t even open yet and Clint had created social media accounts for the business, much to Steve’s confusion.

“Twitter is pointless.”

Clint groaned. “Not to people who don’t act like they’re a hundred years old, it isn’t.”

“People don't _actually_ base their decisions on the opinions of strangers on the internet,” Steve said with confidence. After the awkward silence that followed this remark he added a concerned, “Do they?”

“I've already got three appointments lined up for after the grand opening,” Clint said. “ _And_ we're gaining followers. The internet is kinda a big deal, Cap. It can make or break your business these days. Which reminds me, when are we getting a website?”

Steve seemed blindsided by the question. “Do we really need a website?”

“ _Nah_ ,” Clint answered sarcastically, fiddling with his phone. “I mean, not unless we actually want clients.”

Bucky held his breath, expecting Steve to get snippy, but instead he declared Clint officially in charge of promotion and anything internet related, which was the best possible outcome for everyone involved. Within a week Clint had hosting lined up, a domain name, and managed to find someone to build them a website in exchange for a tattoo. Bucky was so proud of Clint it was coming out his ears, and his mouth, too, since he couldn't stop bragging on Clint's behalf.

Steve had been impressed and gave one of his super sincere and earnest, “Great job,” speeches in front of the group, pointing out that he'd never given that side of the business the consideration it deserved.

“Just another example of why we’re lucky to have you on the team, Hawkeye,” Steve said, and Clint's happiness over the compliment made him look like a little kid.

Natasha refused to let her face be in any of the photos Clint took and Steve seemed allergic to smiling, but otherwise they complied with whatever demands Clint made.

Seeing Clint getting back on his feet was more than heartwarming. It was _hot_. Something about the way confidence looked on Clint drove Bucky absolutely bonkers. It’d been the same back in the Army. Whenever Clint was showing off at the range, or was competing and completely destroyed the opposition, Bucky’s dick would perk right up and salute. Only now, when Clint got that particular bit of swagger to his step and that glint in his eyes, Bucky was allowed to drop to his knees and offer his bestie some positive reinforcement.

“Holy shit,” Clint gasped, holding onto a fistful of Bucky’s hair. “What’d I— _oh_ —do to deserve _this_?”

Bucky opted to keep his mouth right where it was, which seemed to be a-okay by Clint. After, Bucky signed all sorts of nice things to Clint, until his boyfriend was squirming with embarrassment.

“Knock it off, weirdo.”

“No way, sweetheart. I refuse to apologize for being proud of you,” Bucky laughed, smacking Clint on his ass. “Suck it up and deal with the knowledge that you're doing awesome.”

“Oh, I'll suck it up alright,” Clint proclaimed before turning the tables on Bucky. Not only in a filthy way, either. Clint made a point of telling Bucky _he_ was proud, too. “I know it's been tough, letting Steve give it a shot on his own.”

“I'm tryin’.”

“You're doing more than trying,” Clint assured him. “The last couple weeks you've done way better at focusing on yourself.”

Bucky stretched, then settled his head on Clint's chest. “Ever since we got blowed up…”

It was hard getting the words out, even though he'd talked about it plenty. With Clint, with Xavier, with Sam and his dads and Natasha. He'd tried with Steve, but Bucky was pretty sure his brother got the words all twisted around in his head until they meant something else entirely.

“Shit, you know how it goes more than anyone. Any day could be the last one we got, or the last for someone we love.”

Clint's arms tightened around Bucky. “Yeah,” he sighed into Bucky’s hair, “I know.”

“It's always there, but at least when I got my eyes on the people I love I can relax. Convince myself I can keep ‘em safe if I have eyes on ‘em.”

“Wish it was that easy,” Clint mumbled. “Thinking about losing you… Yeah, well, I _can’t_ , not if I wanna function day to day. Enjoying every minute we have together sounds like a better way to handle shit.”

“Definitely.” Bucky sighed and tried to push the fears aside, let himself just be in the moment. Clint was warm and familiar, the steady rise and fall of his chest soothing. Clint ran his fingers through Bucky's hair over and over again, until his eyes were drooping and he was drifting away, safe and sound.

Helplessness was never going to sit right with Bucky, but the reality of the thing was simple. If Steve wasn't ready to listen, or to open up and talk about his thoughts and feelings, therapy wasn't going to do him much good anyway. Given some time and gentle encouragement, Steve might see how much it helped his friends and decide to take the plunge. That wasn't _ever_ going to happen if Bucky kept shoving it down Steve's throat. Getting on the wrong side of his stubbornness never turned out well for anyone.

Knowing he wasn’t the only one losing sleep over his brother was a small consolation, at least. Parker settled for checking in via text message at first, but before too long Bucky found himself unexpectedly running into Richard out in the wild. The first time he was grabbing a pack of smokes and there Richard was, waiting to offer him a light as soon as he stepped outside. Next time was on the train, then it was at the laundromat. Parker only materialized if Bucky was alone, of course, and always had a shit eating grin slapped on his face.

“Message received, loud and fuckin’ clear already, smartass,” Bucky grumbled, accepting the cup of coffee Parker offered. “You gonna stop stalkin’ me, or what?”

Richard shrugged and fell into step beside Bucky like they were just two well adjusted guys out for a stroll. “I don’t know, Barnes, you _did_ point a gun at me from the backseat of my car.”

“Only ‘cause I care,” Bucky said, making Richard laugh. “Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes.”

“Uh huh. Consider _this_ me returning the favor,” Parker said. “You’re getting sloppy. Barton would have made me two blocks back.”

Bucky shook his head. “Who says I didn’t make you?”

“Whatever.”

“ADL 4861,” Bucky countered, reciting the license plate number of the car Parker was using that day.

“Fine, I’ll give you this one,” Richard said, “but I got you the other times.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Richard nodded his head in the direction of a nearby park and Bucky followed without putting up a fuss. “Finally had a chance to swing by and see Steve’s place,” Parker said, once they were settled onto a bench together.

Bucky snorted and took a sip of coffee. “Before or after my folks made him take the couch from the rec room?”

“After.” Parker opened and closed his mouth, which would have been comical if he didn’t also look downright concerned. “Shit. So that’s the place _after_ a furnishing upgrade?”

“Clint’s all optimistic these days, so he thinks Steve is being budget conscious ‘cause of the shop, but I dunno.”

“He might be right,” Richard said after spending some time considering Bucky’s words. “No denying the kid’s got a sense of purpose again.”

“True.” Bucky set down his coffee so he could fish out a cigarette. He was trying to psych himself up to quit, but conversations about his brother made him desperate for a smoke. “Honest opinion, Richie, does it look to you like he’s got plans to stick around?”

“Christ, it feels like I’m tempting fate by saying it outloud, but _yes_. Even taking the couch thing into consideration.” Richard took a deep breath and shifted on the bench so he was facing Bucky. “We had a talk the other day.”

“A talk, huh?” Bucky’s heart was racing in his chest, the relief that accompanied Parker’s words making his eyes sting with unshed tears.

“Yeah, after getting a run down on Steve’s plans and popping downstairs to check out the construction. Opened his mouth and asked me out of nowhere if it ever gets any easier.”

Bucky sat up so fast he almost knocked over his coffee. “What?”

“Steve knows I’ve lost people under my command before,” Parker said, staring off into the distance. “Good people. Hell, most of _your_ people were my people.”

“He brought it up on his own?” Bucky asked, still shocked.

Richard nodded and took a sip of his coffee. “Yes, he did. And before you ask, I told him you never forget and you’re never the same after, but it does get easier with time.”

“My head's spinnin’ over here,” Bucky admitted. “Steve’s been so tight lipped… _Damn_. This could be real good, Parker. What else did he say?”

“Sorry, I’m not getting into details with you,” Richard answered, “but I thought you needed to know that much, at least.”

Bucky struggled against the impulse to shake the information out of Parker. Not only was it a waste of time, it was a dick move. Yeah, it stung that Steve had opted to talk to Richard instead of his own brother, but that was Steve’s choice. It wasn’t even a bad one. Parker had been through shit same as the rest of them, and he’d keep anything Steve told him locked up safe in the vault with the rest of his secrets. Richard loved Mary, but Bucky would bet his other arm that she was kept out of the loop on a lot of what went on in Richard’s life. Bucky, on the other hand, wasn’t going to be able to keep anything from Clint.

“Fair enough. I’d be pissed if my therapist went and ran his mouth.”

“Exactly. I don't want to mislead you into thinking he had some sort of… I don't know. Breakthrough or something. It wasn't that. But he did talk. A little.”

Bucky took a drag from his cigarette and nodded. “Progress is progress. I'll take it. Hey, maybe you can steer him toward therapy? I'm a brainwashed cult member, so anything I say on it gets disregarded.”

“Worth a shot,” Richard agreed. “Gonna take the long way ‘round on that one, though. Steve gets all bristly if he thinks he's being pressured.”

“Don't I know it.”

Richard checked his watch and sighed. “There's this other thing I wanted to give you a heads up on.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky asked, not entirely sure he wanted to hear whatever it was Parker was about to say.

“I asked Steve to be Peter's godfather,” Richard said, looking a lot like he couldn’t decide whether to smile or frown.

It took a second before Bucky made the connection. “Damn, didn't know you had names picked out and all that,” he said, giving Richard a playful shove. “A boy, huh? Happy ‘bout that?”

“As long as the baby is healthy, we’ll both be happy.”

“Good answer. So what’d Stevie say?”

Parker shrugged. “Nothing, yet. I told him to take his time and think it over. Kid isn't even born yet, so there's no rush.”

“Godfather. That's good,” Bucky said. “ _Real good_ , Parker. Steve takes that sort of thing seriously.”

Neither of them needed to come right out and say what they were thinking. If Steve was planning anything drastic there was no way in hell he'd say yes to Parker.

“My thinking exactly,” Richard agreed. “Besides…”

Parker stared off into the distance again and whatever direction his thoughts had taken made him look older all of a sudden.

“This job is risky. You remember my brother, right?” Bucky nodded, and Richard continued. “As much as I love Ben, we're not close, not really. He'd step in if something happened, but…”

Bucky waited for the rest of the sentence, but it never came. “ _But_?”

“I don't know, Barnes. This whole fatherhood thing? I'm not cut out for that kind of life. Never have been, which is how I wound up where I did in the first place.”

“Little late for that, don't you think?” Bucky asked, putting his cigarette out against the bottom of his boot. “Ready or not, you got a baby on the way.”

“Yes, I do. And I'm scared to death I'm going to fuck this up. Asking Steve to be Peter’s godfather is less about giving him something to hang onto and more… He's a good man, your brother. Maybe the best I've ever met. Not perfect, not by a longshot, but _good_ , right down to his bones. Peter’s going to need someone like that in his life.”

Bucky stared into Parker's eyes, trying to read between the lines. “You're not a bad guy, Rich.”

“I'm not a good one, either. I was disillusioned as fuck before I met Steve. If he knew half the shit I got up to before he came along, he wouldn't call me his friend.”

“That's the past,” Bucky pointed out. “You're still alive, asshole, which means you can change. A son is a pretty good reason to start a new life.”

Parker scrubbed a hand over his face. “It's not that simple and you know it. Some things change a person in ways that can't ever be undone.”

A lot of things ran through Bucky's mind all at once, most of them bloody and awful. “I get that.”

“This child… My son. _Peter_. Kid already drew the short straw. He deserves a father he can be proud of. An actual fucking hero, Barnes, not some opportunistic, cut throat operative who loves every bit of his job, even the nasty parts.”

“Okay, now you got me worried _you're_ gonna decide to check out early,” Bucky said, giving Richard’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Not a chance in hell,” Parker laughed, ducking his head. “I'm only saying that Steve being a big part of my son’s life is important to me. I want there to be someone Peter can look up to and count on when the old man lets him down.”

“Assuming he says yes,” Bucky pointed out. Parker dipped his head in concession. “How’s Mary feel about all this?”

“Making Steve the godfather was her idea, actually.” Richard went to take a sip of coffee, then frowned and set the cup aside once he realized it was empty. “Mary’s side of the family is a nightmare. The ones still living, anyway. We haven’t told them she’s pregnant and plan to keep Peter as far away from them as possible.”

“She leavin’ the Company?”

“That’s the big question. Some days she’s excited about starting a new life, others she cries and tells me we made a horrible mistake by not terminating the pregnancy. Motherhood was never in the plans for her, until it happened. Mary loves the work too, Barnes. I can’t ask her to walk away from it all if I’m not prepared to do the same. It's both of us or neither of us.”

Bucky stretched his legs out in front of him and watched the world going on all around them; people out walking their dogs, joggers, moms with strollers, tired looking men in expensive suits. It all seemed very far away in the moment, almost like a different world altogether.

“Want my advice?” Bucky asked, waiting for Richard’s nod of approval before continuing. “Get out while you can. Both of you. There’s other work, other agencies.”

Richard checked his watch again and rose to his feet. “That’s good advice, Barnes,” he said, scanning their surroundings before refocusing on Bucky. “I’ll let you know when I get an answer from Steve.”

“Thanks.” Before Richard could walk away, Bucky grabbed him by the elbow. “I know it’s always been a little weird between us, but you’re still my friend, Richie, and I love you. Anytime you need to talk, come find me.”

Bucky gave Richard’s arm a squeeze, happy to see there was gratitude mixed in with the sadness in Parker’s eyes. When Parker offered his hand, Bucky accepted, letting himself be pulled up off of the bench and into a hug. “Thanks, Bucky. I’ll take you up on that.”

“See that you do.”

“Tell Clint I said hello,” Richard called as he walked away.

“Same to Mary,” Bucky answered, then added, “Hey, Parker? Civilian life ain’t so bad. Bring Mary by the apartment, we’ll have some take out and watch shitty movies, or something, pretend we're well adjusted.”

Richard laughed and waved, tossing a, “Will do,” over his shoulder before he was out of earshot.

Bucky watched him go, watched the way Parker scanned his surroundings, the way he tried to project casual and fell just short of the mark. It left him with the sinking certainty that Richard had already made his decision and would continue down the same path.

Trying to shake off his unease, Bucky sent off a quick text to tell Clint he loved him, then finished his cup of coffee while people watching in the park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, every chapter post I'm leaving a note about being busy, and falling behind. It's a problem.... but srsly, WHERE DID THE WEEK GO!?!!?! Have I mentioned lately that I love you? Because I do. You're the best, supportive audience ever. Thanks for letting me play with your emotions.
> 
> Some day, Bucky will look back on this conversation with Richard, and have some feelings. Sigh.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date night gets slightly derailed by a surprise visitor. Thankfully Bucky 'Sex Monster' Barnes makes everything all better.

Clint was in a good mood. _Was_ being the operative word, since his warm and fuzzy date night feelings left town in a hurry the second Clint realized the person sitting on the front steps of their building was his brother.

“ _Crap_.”

Beside him, Bucky stopped dead in his tracks and a dozen or so possible scenarios flitted through Clint’s imagination. Big surprise, all of them ended with Bucky using the hand he had left to punch Barney in the mouth.

“We don’t have money for bail,” Clint signed in a rush.

A muscle in Bucky’s jaw was jumping with anger, which was never a good sign, but at least he was staying put. “A promise is a promise,” he said with his hand, “but if he tries anything—”

“I’ll knock him on his ass.”

That said, Clint took a deep breath before crossing the street and heading for their home, trying to keep himself positioned between Barney and Bucky, just in case. “What’re you doing here?”

Barney raised both hands in surrender, either from Clint’s tone of voice or the murderous look in Bucky’s eyes. “Calm down, I’m only here to talk.” Barney’s sign language was rough, but the fact that he’d attempted to sign at all was interesting.

“Uh, yeah, you don’t get to tell me to calm down after the last talk we had,” Clint said.

“Hey, you threw the first punch, so don’t—”

“You called him a faggot,” Bucky snarled from beside Clint, “what the hell did you expect?”

Clint prepared himself to jump into the middle of a fist fight, but to his surprise neither of the men made a move, Barney going so far as to shove his hands in his pockets. “I guess that’s fair,” he muttered, adding a dramatic sigh at the end. “So can we talk, or what?”

“You've gotta be kiddin’ me,” Bucky said, following this with a grunt when Clint waved him silent.

“I have a phone. If you wanted to talk, you could've sent a text to set something up instead of dropping by uninvited.”

Barney shrugged a shoulder, eyes narrowed as he scanned the street. “I tried texting, but you never wrote back.”

Despite everything, Clint felt a pang of guilt, which was annoying.

_Barney’s the one who buried you in an avalanche of homophobic bullshit, jackass, you're allowed to be mad._

“Not like you apologized in any of those messages,” he pointed out.

“Not like you gave me a chance,” Barney countered.

“Fuck you,” and that was Bucky, chiming in again. “ _He's_ the wronged party, it ain't his job to chase after—”

Clint shot Bucky a look and his boyfriend shut his mouth. “I got this,” he signed.

Bucky didn't look happy about it, but he nodded and glared at Barney, lips pressed together in a tight line, hand clenched in a fist at his side.

“If you sent a message that said something like, ‘I’m sorry, can we talk?’ I probably would’ve replied,” Clint said. “Don’t remember getting anything like that, though.”

Barney sighed and hung his head. “Fine. I’m sorry. Can we talk _now_?”

Bucky took a step closer, his shoulder pressing against Clint’s in solidarity. He was shaking with anger, but quiet. Clint wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to stay that way, though. Bucky’s temper was a struggle at the best of times, let alone when he was worn thin with stress.

“Sure. Talk.”

“What, here?” Barney asked. “Can’t we go upstairs?”

“Nah.” Clint shifted so he’d be able to look Bucky in the eyes for the next bit. “Bucky’s gonna head upstairs and get Lucky. The two of us can chat while I’m taking the dog for his walk.”

_Oh, look, somebody hates this idea._

It was clear Bucky wanted to stick around in case Barney stepped out of line again, but he wasn’t about to get in a fight over it while they were being watched. United front, and all that. Instead, he fished his keys out of his pocket and headed for the door along a path that forced Barney to either step aside, or take the hit when Bucky attempted to walk _through_ him.

Barney stepped aside, eyes following Bucky's progress well after the front door closed. “He's more intense since losing the arm,” Barney said when he turned back around.

“Am I gonna have to punch you in the face again?” Clint asked, anger swelling in his chest. “You met once, years ago. Don't act like you know him, or what we've been through. _Asshole_.”

For the first time that evening, Barney managed to look contrite. “Sorry, that was… I didn't mean it to... You're right. Sorry.”

It wasn't until he scrubbed his hands across his face that Clint realized they were shaking. All of him was shaking, it turned out, from anger and adrenaline and the sudden, sharp, awful memory of Bucky in his arms, eyes rolling back to show the whites as he lost consciousness.

“Shit,” Clint huffed on an exhale, trying to push away the memory and all the feelings that went with it. Once he felt a little more centered, he squared his shoulders and stared Barney down. “Okay. I'm gonna explain this exactly once. I love that guy a hell of a lot more than I love you, so watch your fucking mouth when talking about him or to him. Tell me you understand.”

Barney stared at him for a moment, the confusion all over his face. “I understand?”

“Not exactly inspiring my confidence, Barney. I'm serious. If you're so fucked in the head that you can't show Bucky some courtesy and respect, walk away now and don't bother coming back.”

Barney’s eyes were wide as he nodded. Clint wasn’t the guy you sought out when someone needed intimidating—that was Bucky’s job—he was best suited for providing comic relief. No wonder Barney was looking at him like he'd never seen Clint before.

“I understand.” Barney held his gaze for a moment as if to show he was being serious, then looked over his shoulder and stepped aside, making room before Bucky came back out with Lucky in tow.

Clint crouched down to better accept Lucky’s enthusiastic greeting, any sort of badass cred he’d earned from straight talking with his brother cancelled out by doggie kisses, but whatever.

“Sure you don’t need backup?” Bucky asked with his hand.

“I’ll be good,” Clint signed back. “You’re not mad, are you?”

Bucky’s expression softened as he shook his head. “Whatever makes it easier for you, sweetheart,” he signed. “Text if you need anything.”

“Yup.” Clint accepted the leash when Bucky offered it, then decided to act the same way he would any other time he and Bucky parted ways. “Love you, see you in a few,” he said, then leaned in to kiss Bucky goodbye.

“Love you, too,” Bucky said with a smile so sweet that Clint had no choice but to kiss him again.

Clint could feel his brother watching them, but Barney kept his mouth shut. “C’mon, Lucky, let's do this thing.”

Lucky barked and started off along their normal route, looking over his shoulder as if to ask why Bucky was hanging back. Clint did the same and gave a little wave, not surprised to find Bucky hadn't budged. He'd probably sit on the steps and smoke half a pack of cigarettes while waiting for Clint to come home.

“I'm not saying this in a judgmental way,” Barney said, “but… that was _strange_.”

“What, me kissing my boyfriend goodbye?” Clint glanced at his brother to make sure he'd gotten it right and then rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that happens a lot. Get over it.”

To Clint's surprise, Barney laughed at this response.

“Or don't. I sorta adopted Bucky's family anyway, so I'll be fine if you'd rather not have a queer brother.”

“Jesus, Clint,” Barney groaned, “I wasn't laughing _at_ you. I mean I was, but not like that.”

_C’mon, Clint, you got this. No punching until he gives you a really good reason._

“Look, can we skip to the end? ‘Cause I was having a really good night before you showed up. I'm not in the mood to play head games.”

“Okay, fine,” Barney whined. “I’m here to apologize.”

Clint waited, but nothing else was forthcoming. “Was that it?” he asked, coming to a stop.

Barney scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Uh…”

Anger and irritation and an overwhelming sense of unfairness left Clint speechless, but only for a minute.

“Fuck your apology,” Clint said with as much cheer as he could manage, “I'm going home. Have a nice life.”

“Wait!” Barney went to grab Clint's arm, then thought better of it. “I'm sorry I called you those names and said that shit. You blindsided me, is all.”

Clint tightened his grip on the leash. Lucky was picking up on the not so friendly vibes between the brothers, and looked an awful lot like he wanted to take a bite out of Barney’s calf.

“Aw, you mean I didn't give you enough time to hide how you really feel? Poor Barney.”

“No! Er, well, okay, yes, a little. But until you I never met a gay person, so how was I supposed to know how to react?”

Clint burst out laughing. “Okay, first off, statistically speaking, you’ve met a ton of gay people. Second, I already told you I’m bisexual, not gay. Third, how long did it take you to come up with that lame ass excuse?” Barney opened his mouth to answer, but Clint cut him off. “Do you seriously think it’s the responsibility of the gay community to teach you how act like a civilized person?”

“Well, no, but… Fuck, I don't know, Clint!” Barney looked about as uncomfortable as Clint felt, which was a small consolation. “Growing up, gay was the _last_ thing you were allowed to be. You remember.”

Clint did remember. Looking back, Clint was pretty sure his dad had figured out he was bisexual way before Clint put two and two together. On more than one occasion he'd taken a belt to Clint while ranting about how real men were supposed to act.

“I remember dad calling me a fairy and beating the shit out of me,” Clint said. He gave the leash a tug and started walking again, the urge to move making his skin crawl. “Of course, he was an abusive, alcoholic, piece of shit, so… what's your point?”

Barney was quiet for a beat. “You're not the only one he did that to, you know.”

Clint hadn't known. Barney had taken his fair share of licks—he'd even come between Clint and his dad’s fists more than once—but it had always been about school, or chores, or some bit of trouble Barney had gotten into. _Clint_ was the sissy crybaby, according to his dad.

“So, what, you decided to call me a faggot for old times sake?”

“No,” Barney said, sounding sad all of a sudden. “Do you ever think about him?”

“I try not to, but it happens.”

Barney cleared his throat. “Last year, I fucked up at work. I don't want to go into it, but I made a mistake and it was not good. First thing I thought of? How bad dad was gonna whoop my ass when he found out. He's been dead forever and I still have that knee jerk reaction. Does that ever happen to you?”

Clint slowed his pace and studied Barney's profile. “I've seen a lot of shit since we were kids. I got other things that keep me up at night now.”

“Yeah. I guess you would, huh?” Barney shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “The whole gay thing caught me by surprise. Dad would've lost it, Clint.”

_Like you lost it, you mean?_

“He probably would've blamed me for winding up deaf, too,” Clint pointed out. “We’ve already established he was human garbage.”

Barney laughed, short and humourless. “What I'm trying to say is when you told me, all I could think of was how dad would've reacted, and… and I panicked, I guess. Had another one of those knee jerk reactions.”

Clint wanted to argue, but all he could think of was the time he skipped school, snuck into his dad’s whiskey, and drank himself stupid. Barney found him first, and instead of telling on Clint he'd freaked out and forced Clint to puke in an attempt to quicken the sobering process. Made him brush his teeth and take a shower so he wouldn’t smell like booze. Then he'd sent Clint to his room and chugged what was left in the bottle, so that when their dad came home it was Barney that paid the price.

“It seemed really important to make you take it back,” Barney said after the silence stretched on.

“Not happening.”

“Yeah, I figured as much when you knocked me on my ass.”

Clint watched his brother through his peripheral vision, nerves running riot. “So, how do you feel about it now?”

Barney opened and closed his mouth a couple times before shrugging. “It's still weird. But, uh, I'm not like you, Clint. I don't have a replacement family. It would be a big deal to me if I lost my one and only brother.”

“Even if he sucks dick?” Clint asked, watching the way the words made Barney cringe.

“Yeah,” Barney said, “but I'd rather not think about my baby brother sucking a dude’s dick if that's cool.”

“I don't want to think about you going down on a lady, so we’re even.” This made Barney laugh and Clint allowed himself to join in, some of the anger and tension bleeding out as he did. “Bucky makes me happier than I’ve ever been in my whole stupid life, Barney.”

“That’s good.” Barney even sounded like he meant it.

Lucky led them over to his favorite spot to poop and got down to business. Clint struggled not to laugh, because Lucky was doing a pretty good job of summing up his relationship with Barney.

_Still… he's the only biological family you got._

“Bucky’s kinda protective of the people he loves,” Clint said, “so I'm not gonna be inviting you around to hang out like nothing happened. It’d go horribly wrong.”

Barney looked surprised and hopeful. “Okay.”

“And I'm gonna need time, too, because the things you said weren't even close to cool, Barney.”

“However you want to play this, you just tell me.”

Clint sighed and fished a plastic bag out of his pocket so he could pick up Lucky's poop. “I guess you can have a do over. One time, Barney. One time.”

“I understand,” Barney said in a rush, a goofy smile on his face. “And I _am_ sorry, Clint. I, uh, I’ve been reading up on homosexuality and—”

“Good for you. Keep it to yourself. I'm your brother, you don't need to read articles to figure out who I am. I'm the same guy as before.”

“Right, I know that. I wasn't saying—”

“I'm in therapy ‘cause of everything that happened to me in the Army, but dad comes up there, too,” Clint barreled on. “Try talking to a professional, bro. Get your head sorted out.”

Barney chuckled and squeezed Clint’s shoulder, his hand there and gone again as if worried the physical contact would be unwelcome. “You might not see it, but from where I'm standing you're not the same guy. My baby brother always avoided his problems and sucked at standing up for himself.”

“What can I say? I'm a work in progress.”

“So we're good?” Barney asked.

“We’re trying again. Good depends on how this plays out.”

“Okay. Got it.”

Since Lucky was done relieving himself, they resumed their walk, Clint ditching the bag as soon as they passed a trashcan. There was something surreal about Barney being there for such an everyday occurrence. Clint half expected to wake up and find himself in bed with Bucky, drool on his pillow and the dog at his feet.

Barney cleared his throat. “So, uh, I see you got the hearing aids. How are they working out?”

“Fine. Weird. Things sound different. I'm getting used to it, though.”

“Good. If there’s anything I can do...”

“Nah. I got it covered,” Clint said. Lucky was on autopilot and already heading back in the direction of the apartment. “But, um, maybe we can have lunch in a week or two. Things are kinda crazy right now, I'm about to start working again.”

“Shit, really?” Barney asked. “Where are you working?”

_Here goes nothing._

“Steve's opening a tattoo parlor and I'm one of the artists,” Clint said. “I'm also in charge of PR for the shop.”

It was quiet, Barney taking a moment to process what he was hearing, which was better than going straight into a tirade about how Clint was selling himself short and could have a whole dumb career in D.C.

“Wow, not what I was expecting,” Barney said. “I didn't know you were still doing that.”

Clint bristled and picked up the pace. “I know it's not some fancy government job, but I'm—”

“Clint, no, stop!” Barney shuffled around until he was standing in front of Clint, effectively blocking his path. “I'm not judging. If you like the work that's all that matters.”

_Huh._

“I think it'll be a good fit,” Clint said, watching Barney’s face, waiting for him to start laughing or something. “Natasha’s gonna work there, too.”

Barney stepped aside as if no longer worried Clint was going to take off running. “No Bucky?”

“Nah,” Clint said. “I love him, but the guy can't even manage a decent stick figure.”

“Well, I hope it works out. Send me the details once you're open so I can recommend you to people.”

Up ahead, Clint could make out the shape that was Bucky, pacing back and forth in front of their building. “You really don't care?” he asked. “You were all gung ho about me getting a job using my military skills.”

“You’d make good money, that's for sure.” Barney shrugged. “I only wanted you to get _something_ , Clint, so I'd know you were okay.”

“I'll be okay. I got Bucky, Lucky, my team. Taking care of myself, too.”

“Good.” Barney must have spotted Bucky, too, because he slowed down. “Let me know when you're ready for that lunch.”

“Yeah, okay,” Clint said.

Barney came to a stop, looking Clint over like he was still trying to figure his brother out. “Thanks for talking to me.”

And even though it was awkward and Clint could still remember all too easily the venom that had been in Barney's eyes the last time they'd parted ways, Clint was glad he'd given his brother a chance.

“You fucking suck sometimes,” Clint said, “but you're still my brother and I love you.”

Barney laughed at this and extended his hand. Once Clint reached back to shake on it, Barney used his grip to pull Clint into a quick, fierce hug.

“I love you, too, little brother. I'll try to leave the sucking to you from here on out,” he joked, squeezing Clint once more before letting go. “Uh, Bucky looked like he wanted to stab me earlier, so I think I better quit while I’m ahead and say goodnight here.”

_Oh, if he only knew._

“Probably a good idea. You’re at the top of his shit list right now.”

“I’ll be in touch about that lunch,” Barney said. “Take care of yourself.”

“I will.” Clint headed off again, calling, “Drive safe,” over his shoulder as he went.

Barney waved goodbye and crossed the street. After waving back, Clint made himself face front, not giving into the urge to look over his shoulder again and again to see if Barney was still there.

“Well?” Bucky asked as soon as Clint was close enough to hear him. He looked a lot like he was poised to take off after Barney if he didn’t like the answer to his question.

“I gave him a do over,” Clint answered. “Aw, don’t look at me like that! It’s a one time only offer, Buck, so if he acts up again, he’s out of my life for good.”

Bucky shook his head and reached for Clint, his fingers curling protectively around the nape of Clint’s neck as he pulled him close. “C’mon, after all the shit I put you through ‘cause of my brother, I ain’t exactly in a position to judge.” Bucky rested his forehead against Clint’s and sighed. “All that matters is whether you feel good about givin’ him a second chance.”

“No regrets as of yet,” Clint said, smiling. “My expectations aren’t that high, so that helps.”

“You're okay, though?” Bucky asked, staring deep into Clint's eyes, on the lookout for trouble.

“Yeah. Barney said some stuff about our dad that, uh, resonated. Always a chance it's a bullshit excuse, but… we’ll see. Hey, can we forget about him for right now?”

“Sure.” Bucky smiled a soft, adoring smile before pressing his lips to the corner of Clint’s mouth. “Wanna pick up date night where we left off?”

“That sounds awesome,” Clint said, exhaling in a rush. “I'll give you a play by play tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Bucky agreed. “I’m sure I can figure out a way to distract you.”

“You're pretty distracting by default,” Clint said, smacking Bucky on the ass. “I'm confident you can keep my mind occupied.”

Bucky broke out that sexy smirk of his and unlocked the front door, stepping aside so Clint and Lucky could head in first.

“Don't you worry, baby, I got plans,” Bucky said in his bedroom voice.

_Good things about hearing aids: knowing what Bucky’s bedroom voice sounds like._

Tempting as it was to race Bucky up the stairs, Clint kept to a reasonable pace, not wanting to irritate their neighbors or get Lucky all riled up. He could feel Bucky's eyes on him as he moved and that alone was enough to get Clint feeling hot under the collar.

As soon as he came to a stop, Bucky crowded up behind him, arm sliding around Clint’s waist to give him a squeeze. Clint managed to miss the lock, key skidding to the side, prompting laughter.

“Need help with the door?” Bucky asked, warm breath skating across Clint's skin. He rolled his hips, rubbing himself against Clint's backside in a really stellar way. “You seem to be havin’ trouble.”

“I got distracted for some reason,” Clint laughed, finally getting the door open.

Bucky hustled him into the apartment, gave Clint a moment to take care of Lucky, then pulled him into a kiss. It was the best combination of dirty and sweet, Bucky’s eyelids dipping to half-mast as he sucked on Clint’s lower lip.

“Hey, darlin’.”

“Hey yourself,” Clint said, winding his arms around Bucky’s shoulders. “Wanna tell me about these plans of yours?”

A somewhat shy smile made an appearance, which was distracting and caused Clint’s heart to beat all fast. It also piqued his curiosity. Bucky wasn’t exactly a wilting flower when it came to sex. Whatever he had in mind was something special based on the eyelash fluttering and the blush creeping across Bucky’s perfect face.

“I was thinkin’ I should take you upstairs,” Bucky said, voice going husky, “spend some time sucking your dick while fingering you.”

Clint’s pulse jumped, blood rushing south at the suggestion. Bucky had been working fingering into their repertoire as of late, and Clint was a big fan, although part of him felt guilty about how much he enjoyed it all. Bucky tried to hide it, but Clint could tell he was frustrated with the priority shuffling that came into play when he had his one and only hand occupied. Once, after a particularly athletic romp, Bucky had complained about the number of times he went to use his missing hand, only to have reality catch up with him again.

“Are you sure?”

Bucky gave him a don’t be stupid look. “ _Very_ sure.”

Clint ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “Sign me up, then.”

“Glad you approve.” Bucky slid his hand low, lower, not stopping until he was cupping Clint's ass possessively. “I was also thinkin’ once you’re riding that edge I’d take my fingers away, make you beg. Just a little.”

Clint shifted so he could rock himself against Bucky’s thigh, which made the man smile. “Oh yeah?”

“Yup,” Bucky answered, popping the P. He squeezed Clint’s ass, then leaned in even closer, kissing his way along Clint’s jaw and over to his earlobe. Teeth tugged playfully before Bucky sucked the lobe into his mouth and bit down. “And if you beg real nice and pretty, I’m gonna slide my cock into that tight little ass of yours and fuck you stupid.”

If anyone else had been around to hear it, Clint would have been embarrassed by the desperate noise he made in response to this announcement. Luckily, it was just the two of them, so it didn’t matter. Besides, Bucky seemed to like the reaction, if his smirk was anything to go by.

“Still interested?”

“Yes, very interested,” Clint babbled, “the _most_ interested. I’ll start begging now if it’ll seal the deal.”

“You don’t—”

“Please, Buck,” Clint groaned, grabbing a fistful of Bucky’s hair and another of his ass. “Pretty please with sugar on top, I need every,” he paused to kiss Bucky, “last,” another kiss, “inch of you inside me.”

Bucky kissed back for all he was worth, tongue swirling around Clint’s own, teasing him, tasting and exploring and challenging. When Bucky tore his mouth free, Clint was breathing heavily, pulse pounding in his dick, which very much wanted out of his pants.

“Upstairs,” Bucky ordered, “now.” Then he disentangled himself from Clint and crouched down to pet Lucky. The dog had been watching the entire time, tail thumping happily on the floor as he smiled at them. “Lucky, I need you to stay down here and keep watch. I love you, pup, but it throws me off my game when you watch me with those innocent doggie eyes.”

Lucky barked and licked Bucky’s face. “Good boy,” Clint said, petting the dog and Bucky at the same time. “We’re gonna go upstairs and be animals for awhile.”

“Yeah we are,” Bucky agreed, shoving Clint toward the stairs.

Clint took the steps two at a time, shedding his shirt as he went. Shoes went flying, socks were toed off, pants unbuttoned and shoved out of the way, and all before Bucky made it up the stairs. Once he was down to his briefs, Clint rushed over to the nightstand to grab supplies, tossing them onto the bed.

“I would’ve helped you get undressed,” Bucky said when he reached the top of the stairs, laughing.

“Nope, no way,” Clint smiled like a lovesick goon and stroked himself through his underwear. “I’m too keyed up for a long, drawn out affair. It’s gonna take long enough as it is to open me up for that big dick of yours. Which I’m desperate for, in case it isn’t obvious.”

“Desperate, huh?”

Bucky took his time stripping, not because of being down a hand, but because he was a sexy bastard on a mission to torment Clint. The shirt was edged up and up, slowly revealing his enviable abdominal muscles. Clint wanted to cover them with come and lick them clean; that was always a good time. He wanted everything at once, really, skin and heat and the tiniest bit of struggle, wished he could somehow contort himself and bend space and time so as to take it up the ass while simultaneously sucking Bucky’s cock and fucking him into the mattress.

_Greedy, greedy boy. Once upon a time you would have killed for a chance to see his dick hard, let alone be able to touch it, or suck it, or… fuck, he’s beautiful._

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Clint said. Bucky’s shirt had been discarded, the long hair brushing against his shoulders as he worked his pants open.

“So are you,” Bucky said. That he meant it was some strange and miraculous occurrence. He continued undressing, but all of his attention was focused on Clint in the best possible way. “Lose the boxers, sweetheart, and make yourself look pretty for me on the end of the bed there.”

Clint felt himself blushing, but followed orders in a rush, dick springing free to bob in the air as soon as his underwear was removed. Bossy Bucky was hot, no two ways about it, so Clint was happy to let his boyfriend call the shots. He sat at the end of the bed, legs spread, leaning back against the sheets, cock in hand, stroking himself as he watched Bucky shimmy out of his pants.

“Mm, very nice,” Bucky said, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. Like Clint, he was already hard. “Grab the lube for me, baby.”

“Yessir.” Clint flopped back against the bed and reached up, fingertips brushing against the bottle of lube. As he stretched to grab it and the lube injector, Bucky took advantage of the distraction to sneak up and suck the head of Clint’s cock into his mouth. “Oh, shit!”

With a sigh, Clint went limp against the sheets, staring at the ceiling for a moment while Bucky sucked him down in one filthy, overeager go, humming to himself even as he gagged. The sound made Clint _wild_. He’d spent a lot of time jerking off while imagining making Bucky moan, but the reality of the thing was so much better and hotter.

Bucky sucked enthusiastically for a minute or two, thumb pressing behind Clint’s balls as his head bobbed, and Clint propped himself up on an elbow to watch. “I still catch myself thinking I’m gonna wake up any minute,” Clint said, brushing Bucky’s hair back from his face. “How lucky can one guy be, right?”

“Dream come true,” Bucky gasped as he let Clint slide free of the hot suction of his mouth. Bucky licked his lips and crawled onto the bed, poised above Clint. “I’m lucky too, you know. Luckiest guy in the world.”

Clint pulled Bucky down into a kiss, rocking himself against Bucky as their tongues dueled. He fished a hand between their bodies, took hold of Bucky, stroking, fingers sliding along the hot length of his dick. Nervousness was there, underneath the excitement, because Bucky was a big boy. Clint already knew they’d move slow and that if he changed his mind or didn’t like taking it up the ass, that it wouldn’t be an issue. Backing out would definitely make him feel like an idiot, though, after all the days and weeks of dropping hints that he wanted to try anal.

Bucky squirmed free of the kiss, shifting until he was kneeling over Clint, staring down at him like he was something to be conquered. “Open wide.” And Clint did, staring up at Bucky as he guided himself past Clint’s lips and thrust into his mouth. “Perfect, baby, absolutely perfect.”

_You were nervous the first time you sucked his dick, too, and now you’re a cocksucking superstar._

Whether or not it was true, Bucky made him feel like a champion. There he was, undulating above Clint, working his dick in and out of Clint’s mouth while making the most amazing noises. Soft, hungry, awestruck sounds, like he couldn’t believe his luck. It spurred Clint on, heart hammering against his ribs as he tried to swallow Bucky whole, one hand snaking up to play with Bucky’s nipple while the other wrapped around his own dick to tug in time with the movement of his mouth.

“Clint, you… _oh_ , got no idea how good you are,” Bucky gasped.

For a wild moment, he fucked Clint’s mouth hard and fast and sublime, making Clint’s eyes water. Then Bucky growled and slid free, his cock leaving a little trail of spit on Clint’s chin, which he wiped away with his thumb. Then they were kissing again, Clint’s entire mouth feeling hot and alive, tingling from stimulation, Bucky’s wicked tongue sliding against his own.

“Gonna make you go to pieces,” Bucky swore, eyes all dark and intense. “Fill you up, ride you nice and sweet ‘til you need it hard and nasty.”

“Keep talking like that and I’m gonna come before we even get started,” Clint said in a rush, stroking himself roughly.

“No way.” Bucky shifted until he was beside Clint, then grabbed hold of his wrist, using his grip to pull Clint’s hand away from his cock. He maintained eye contact as he raised Clint’s arm above his head and pressed down. “Time for some ground rules.”

“Rules?”

Bucky chewed on his lower lip, eyes darting as he looked Clint up and down. Fingers reached out to trace along his jaw, a thumb dragging across his lower lip, pulling his mouth open a bit before Bucky stroked down across Clint’s chest. Lower, lower, until one fingertip was tracing a vein in his cock. Clint swallowed and tried to stay still, waiting for Bucky to begin.

“I been dreamin’ about fuckin’ you for ages,” Bucky said, looking Clint in the eyes again. “Holdin’ you down, tossin’ you around the bed, that kind of thing. You probably noticed I’m hands on like that.”

“Uh huh,” Clint said, breathing heavily. “You probably noticed I’m a fan.”

Bucky smiled, his eyes sparkling. “Oh, I noticed. Thing is… I’ve been puttin’ this off, mostly ‘cause the way I wanna fuck you is tough with the arm being gone.” Bucky took hold of Clint’s other wrist, tugged, moving his arm so his wrists were crossed above his head. Then he circled both of them with his hand and pushed down. “Can’t exactly finger you or play with your dick if I’m doing this.”

“No,” Clint agreed, sounding dumb. He shifted a bit, testing Bucky’s grip on him, dick giving an excited little jump when Bucky held fast, keeping him in place while staring down into his eyes.

“I tell you this every time, but I’m not sure you grasp the reality of the thing,” Bucky said, leaning in close to lick Clint’s lower lip. He pulled back with a smile when Clint tried to get a kiss. “You are fan-fuckin’-tastic in bed, sweetheart. Gold medal caliber. And I wanna make sure it’s as good for you as you make it for me.”

Surprise left Clint’s mouth hanging open. “Buck—”

“Hush,” he said, finally giving Clint a kiss. “Don’t worry, I know this is gonna be fun, ‘cause it’s you and me, and everythin’ we’ve tried together has been aces.”

“Okay, good, because you’re _also_ fantastic, and I don’t—”

Bucky kissed him again to cut off the flow of words. “I know. Look, this is what I’m gettin’ at, sweetheart. I want tonight to be about _you_. Specifically, me takin’ real good care of you. And since I can’t do all the things I wanna do, I’m gonna make some requests.”

“What kind of requests?” Clint asked, pushing against Bucky’s hand again. Bucky smirked down at him, tightening his grip around Clint’s wrists.

“That I get to be in charge, unless anythin’ I ask is somethin’ you don’t wanna do. Is that okay by you?” Clint swallowed and nodded his head. Bucky let go of Clint’s wrists, hand splayed there for a moment before he slid it down Clint’s body and wrapped it around his cock. “Keep your hands right there for me like a good boy.”

“Holy shit,” Clint whispered, doing as was asked, holding his breath as Bucky stroked away. “You can, uh, always tie me up, if, um, that’ll help.”

Bucky laughed, deep and throaty, then leaned down to swipe his tongue across the head of Clint’s dick. “Mm, we can definitely try that another time if you want. You’ll just have to follow orders for now.”

“I can do that,” Clint said, hips twitching as he thrust up into Bucky’s mouth, “I got lots of practice.”

Another of those dirty laughs, and the beautiful inferno of Bucky’s mouth was gone again. “I know you do. Move the supplies down here for me, then spread your legs.”

Clint scrambled to do as Bucky asked, tossing everything down to the edge of the bed before shifting to spread himself wide, heels resting on the ledge their bedframe provided. Bucky watched the entire time, then climbed off the bed. He stood there for a moment, stroking his dick, lips curled in a lazy smile.

“Hands back above your head,” he ordered. Clint obeyed and waited, wondering what was coming next. “We need to get those mirrored ceilings you’re always going on about so you can see how hot you look like this.”

“A tripod and camera is probably cheaper,” Clint pointed out, “and doesn’t violate the lease.”

Bucky walked around the bed, moving out of Clint’s line of sight. “I like the way you think.” There was the sound of rustling, then Bucky was back, clutching a pillow. He dropped it on the floor at the foot of the bed, then sank to his knees. “Move forward an inch or two. There you go, perfect.”

And with that, Bucky leaned in close and wriggled the tip of his tongue against Clint’s asshole. “Oh, _fuck_!” Bucky did it again, exhaling in a hot rush, his stubble scratching Clint’s skin as he dove back in. “ _Bucky_.”

Clint’s cock twitched and he almost gave into the urge to jack himself off, but remembered that Bucky was in charge. It wasn’t the first time Bucky had rimmed him, but knowing what the act was leading up to made everything different somehow. Same with having to keep his hands in place until Bucky told him otherwise. There wasn’t much for Clint to do other than spread his legs farther apart and angle his hips in an attempt to get closer to Bucky’s wicked mouth.

_Oh man, this is happening, he’s gonna fuck you, you’re gonna know what it’s like to have Bucky’s cock inside of you, holy best sex ever!_

Bucky’s tongue was hot and wet and felt amazing. He was breathing heavy and being able to hear that only made Clint’s dick harder. Wet, sucking kisses were followed by the tip of Bucky’s finger, there and gone again.

“Doing okay?”

“More than okay,” Clint answered lifting his head off of the bed so he could watch. “How ‘bout you.”

“I’m a happy camper.” Bucky lapped at Clint’s balls before sucking on them. Then he corkscrewed a finger into Clint’s ass, easy as you please. Clint flopped back on the bed, gasping, listening intently as Bucky slurped away. “Now I want you to hold onto the backs of your thighs for me, darlin’. Spread yourself nice and wide so I can get you ready for my cock.”

“Best boyfriend ever,” Clint stammered, following orders as quickly as possible. “Is this okay?”

“Settle in a bit and let your knees sink back,” Bucky said, reaching down to touch each knee, repositioning Clint until he was satisfied. “Comfortable?”

“Uh huh.”

“Good.” Bucky stood once again and started playing with one of his nipples while studying Clint, seemingly lost in thought. Clint shifted, entire body feeling flushed and alive with arousal as he put himself on display for Bucky. “Look at you, darlin’. Mouthwatering, every last bit of you.”

Bucky’s cock was dark and jutting in Clint’s direction, veins standing out starkly. Clint wanted to reach for it, wanted to stroke and suck and make Bucky moan. Instead he tightened his grip on his thighs and chewed his lower lip.

_Touch me, touch me, please touch me, you know you wanna…_

As if he’d heard Clint’s thoughts, Bucky reached out and rubbed the pad of his thumb across Clint’s hole, which was still slick with Bucky’s saliva. Clint whimpered and held his breath, waiting, wanting, hoping to feel Bucky push his way inside. Instead, Bucky grabbed the lube and gave it a one-handed pump, but rather than going for Clint’s ass, he wrapped his slick fingers around Clint’s dick and tugged.

“How’s that feel?” he asked, the words all but drowned out by Clint’s own moaning.

“ _So good._ ” Clint shifted and tried to rock himself into Bucky’s fist, prompting Bucky to click his tongue with displeasure and take away his hand. “Aww!”

“Stay still for me, baby, there you go,” Bucky said, voice low and possessive. “Settle in, just like that.” Clint did as he was told, and though his chest was rising and falling rapidly, the rest of him was still. “Tonight you take what I give you, when I give it to you, right?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t make requests.” Bucky reached down and brushed his fingers across the head of Clint’s dick, tugging gently at his foreskin. “If you ask real nice, I might even give you what you ask for.” Clint’s heart felt like it jumped in his chest. He blinked up at Bucky, struggling to stay still while Bucky played with the head of his cock. “Is there somethin’ you want, baby?”

“Yes,” he huffed, tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth. “I’ll love you forever if you rub your dick against my ass. Pretty please, Buck?”

“Damn, I wanted to say no to whatever you came up with in order to prove a point,” Bucky laughed, letting go of Clint so he could wrap his hand around his own dick, “but I like the sound of that too much.”

Once Bucky’s cock was shiny with lube he repositioned himself so he could thrust between Clint’s spread asscheeks, giving him precisely what he’d asked for. “That’s so hot,” Clint gasped. Bucky slid back and forth, pausing to tease the ridge of his cockhead against Clint’s asshole again and again. “I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve tried to imagine what it’d feel like having you insi—oh, _fuck, fuck, fuck_!”

While Clint was talking, Bucky had worked his hand into play, sliding a finger into Clint’s ass. He curled it, wiggled around and pressed down, making Clint’s cock jerk up and away from his body.

“Look at you, sweetheart,” Bucky said. He worked his finger deeper, swirling it inside of Clint’s body as best he could before taking it away again. “You got my dick so hard.”

Clint laughed and stared down at himself, the throbbing in his cock making him feel unbalanced. “You’re hard? Look at me! I swear, I’m gonna shoot off the second you get inside of me.”

Bucky licked his lips and aimed a wicked smile at Clint. “Hmm, so maybe I shouldn’t suck it, then?”

“Whoa, I didn’t say that!”

The sound of Bucky’s laughter was music to Clint’s ears. Hearing aids. Whatever. The point was, Bucky was amazing and Clint was trying to figure out what he’d done to earn the kind of happily ever after scenario he’d found himself staring in.

Bucky grabbed the lube again before climbing onto the bed beside Clint. “Let go of your legs and climb on top, darlin’. All fours, facin’ that way, so I can play with your ass. Now.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Clint said, scrambling to do just that. After making some adjustments, Bucky reached up and popped his thumb into Clint’s ass. “Can I suck your cock?”

“Nope.” Bucky pushed against the tight ring of muscle, wriggling until he hit his target, making Clint moan loud enough for the sound to echo through the loft. “Look all you want, but don’t move. Even when I start suckin’ your dick. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Get comfortable and let me know when you’re ready.”

Rather than opening his mouth and saying he was good to go, Clint took a moment to assess, made some adjustments, bracing himself on his forearms rather than his hands. His hips were still high in the air, giving Bucky room to suck and finger to his heart’s content, but he’d shifted back so that Bucky’s erection was sandwiched between their bodies, nestled against Clint’s chest.

“Is this okay?” he asked, holding his breath as he waited for an answer.

“Very okay,” Bucky answered. “That mean you’re ready?”

“Yup, never more re— _ahhh_ , still, staying still, I can… _fuck_ , I can do this.”

Bucky had wrapped his soft, perfect lips around the head of Clint’s cock and was playing with his foreskin again. All Clint wanted to do was thrust down, plunge himself into Bucky’s mouth. He stayed put, though, thighs trembling as he fought his instincts. Bucky’s tongue swirled and wriggled, slipping between foreskin and cockhead all while he hummed.

“Can already taste you,” Bucky said, taking his mouth away for a moment. “You like this, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Clint said, eyes squeezed shut and a smile on his face.

“Tell me about it.” Bucky kissed the head of Clint’s cock and started rubbing circles against his asshole again, fingertips teasing with pressure but not much more.

Clint opened his eyes. “What?”

“I wanna hear how much you like it,” Bucky explained, pushing his way inside.

“Oh shit,” Clint gasped. Bucky had gone straight to two fingers. “I, uh, okay, yeah, sure. Lemme just… think.” As if to offer encouragement, Bucky slowly twisted his fingers and made Clint moan. “My brain’s not working, ‘cause you got my dick so hard, and, holy shit, Bucky, your mouth is _heaven_. Makes… makes me feel like the king of the world, or something.”

Bucky made a happy noise and moved his fingers, pushing and stretching at the tight clutch of Clint’s body, even as he slurped hungrily at his dick.

“Fuck, never in a million years would I have thought I’d get to do this with you,” Clint moaned, struggling to stay still. “Wanna fuck your mouth so bad, but for some reason it’s super hot that you’re not letting me. You… oh, _Buck_ , right… _right there_ , fuck, you bossy, perfect, sex monster.”

Bucky’s fingers were curled and rubbing enticingly inside of Clint, his thumb pressed behind Clint’s balls while his head bobbed. Wet, filthy sounds filled the room, and Clint had to dig his fingernails into his palms as a reminder to stay still.

“Sex monster, huh?” Bucky’s voice sounded raspy. “Might need that on a t-shirt.”

“I’ll make you one, all the shirts you want,” Clint promised, “free of charge.”

Bucky laughed and sucked at Clint’s balls while working his fingers free. Clint felt exposed and oddly open for a moment, but then lube was pumped right against his hole and Bucky’s fingers were back in play.

“I’m gonna be nice and let you move,” he said, “but only back and forth. Give it a shot.” Clint shifted experimentally, pushing himself back onto Bucky’s fingers, which also caused his chest to rub against Bucky’s dick. “Mm, perfect, like that, slow and steady.”

Clint swallowed as he rocked, cock hanging heavy between his legs now. Bucky worked his fingers deep, deeper, crossing and uncrossing them as he stretched Clint open. It was awesome and perfect and then Bucky _stopped_.

“Thought I told you to tell me how much you like it?”

“So much,” Clint stammered. “The most. Love… oh, love the way you make me feel. Like the sexiest guy in the world. Horniest, too. Also, this is a super turn on. I have a couple scenarios saved in the spank bank where you tie me up and make me suck your dick, but—oh, _oh my god_ , Buck! You’re definitely a sex monster.”

Bucky laughed and continued teasing Clint’s prostate, making his dick throb dangerously. Clint rocked himself on Bucky’s fingers, trying to get more and harder, whimpering as his body shook.

“I wanna see if I can fit three inside of you,” Bucky said, kissing Clint’s balls. “Think you’re ready for that?”

They’d never done three before. Two felt like a tight fit, but three was probably a good idea, considering Bucky’s dick was a big step up from two. “I think so. Can I maybe suck your cock while you give it a try? Pretty please?”

“Sounds fair. Give me the all clear when you’re ready.”

Clint pushed himself back onto all fours and shifted around until he could take hold of Bucky with one hand. As he worked his lips around the head of Bucky’s cock, Clint willed himself to relax, reminded himself that they had time. Sucked Bucky as deep as he could manage, taking his time, getting him nice and wet. Once he felt centered again, Clint tapped Bucky’s thigh and gave a thumbs up, then concentrated on sucking Bucky nice and slow.

Carefully, Bucky removed his fingers, taking a moment to stroke Clint’s asscheeks and down along his thigh. “Love the way you go down on me, darlin’.”

More lube was introduced, then one finger, two fingers. Bucky moved slowly, caressing Clint from the inside. Clint tried to picture what it must look like. He’d done it to Bucky enough to have good visuals at hand, could easily imagine the obscene stretch and—

Clint moaned around Bucky’s dick, body shaking despite his attempts to stay still. Pressure was accompanied by an almost uncomfortable stretching sensation, almost being the operative word. Bucky kept his fingers still, giving Clint plenty of time to adjust.

“Lemme know if I need to stop.”

Stopping sounded like a very bad idea, so Clint opted to pick up where he’d left off sucking Bucky’s cock. He could feel himself twitching and fighting the intrusion, until his ass came to its senses and welcomed Bucky. Clint moaned again, worked his mouth and up down Bucky’s cock until his tongue and lips were tingling, breathing raggedly through his nose. Bucky took it for encouragement and pushed the tiniest bit deeper. Rather than thrusting in and out, he undulated his fingers inside of Clint’s ass, keeping them nice and snug, right where they were.

It was a little slice of heaven. They moved together in beautiful synchronicity, Bucky’s fingers driving Clint wild, the cock in his mouth reminding him of what he was being prepped to take. Clint didn’t realize how bad he was shaking until Bucky slid his fingers free and started rubbing his thigh in a soothing motion.

“On your back, Clint,” Bucky said, prodding Clint’s hip.

Legs and arms shaking, Clint flopped down onto the bed, his entire body thrumming with desire and anticipation. He felt hot and hard, caught himself at the last minute and pressed his palms against the sheets rather than touching his dick.

“There you go, sweetheart,” Bucky said, stroking Clint’s cheek. “Catch your breath.”

Bucky settled in close and nuzzled at Clint’s mouth, brushing his lips back and forth, pulling away before bringing them back to kiss Clint properly. “Your lips are always so soft,” Clint sighed, staring up into Bucky’s eyes like the lovesick fool he was. “And the stubble drives me crazy. Dunno why, but it does.”

“Mm, the hair on your stomach does it for me,” Bucky said, dragging his fingertips down to the thatch of hair and kissing Clint again. “I used to live for glimpses of it. We’d be sweatin’ our asses off, then you’d pull up your tank top to wipe at your face and it was all I could do to keep from jumpin’ on you.”

“Seriously?” Clint asked, smiling.

“Hells yes,” Bucky insisted. “More than once I had to go jerk off ‘cause of that. I was obsessed with following that trail of hair all the way down.” He punctuated his statement by doing just that, fingers wrapping around Clint’s cock and tugging.

“That’s awesome. I had no idea.”

“That’s ‘cause you underestimate your sexiness, baby.”

Bucky played with Clint’s dick for a moment, chewing on his lower lip as he watched his hand move. “I don’t wanna rush this, so I’m gonna pick up where I left off, if that’s okay?”

“Can I have one more kiss first?” Clint asked, batting his lashes. Bucky gave him what he asked for, the kiss going on and on, until Bucky bit into his lower lip and pulled away.

“Move back to the edge for me, like before.”

Clint got himself situated and watched Bucky help himself to more lube, a thought occurring to him. “Uh, I have a request,” he said, clearing his throat. Bucky arched an eyebrow and motioned for Clint to continue. “I was thinking we maybe skip the condom?”

Bucky went very still, two fingertips poised to enter Clint’s body. It was a struggle not to push against them, but he managed, staring up at Bucky, wondering what he was thinking. Slowly, one finger slipped inside, making Clint whimper.

_Please say yes, please say yes, please—_

“As long as you don’t mind an assful of my come—”

“Holy fuck,” Clint cried. Bucky was dead on target, finger stroking back and forth. “Don’t mind, not even a little, _oh_ , that’s the goal, really.”

“Happy to oblige my favorite pervert, then.” Bucky smirked down at him and gave Clint the second finger. “Gonna suck your dick again. I want you to squeeze down on my fingers, hard as you can and as long as you can, so I get think about how good you’re gonna feel around my dick.”

“I can do that,” Clint said in a rush.

Bucky’s fingers moved nice and slow, a steady rocking motion inside of Clint. He curled and caressed and Clint squeezed down on Bucky’s fingers as much as he could, whimpering at the feeling of his cock being enveloped in wet hot suction. Each time Clint clamped down, Bucky rewarded him by rubbing his prostate and sucking enthusiastically, encouraging him to do it again and again, until he could hardly squeeze at all.

The room was filled with the best sounds, Bucky humming with pleasure as he loudly slurped his way up and down Clint’s dick, their heavy breathing drowning out everything else.

“Bucky,” Clint whined, biting down into his lower lip. “ _Please_. I can’t, _oh fuck_ , it’s not enough anymore. I’m ready to beg, as much as you want.”

The look that was in Bucky’s eyes was beyond intense. “Sure you’re ready?” he asked, smirking. “I’m happy to play with your ass all night if that’s what it takes.”

“I promise you I will die from frustration if you do that,” Clint said, “which would be a super lame way to go. I’m sure. Hell, I’m past sure, Buck, and stranded in desperation land. I’m officially _begging_ for your cock. Please, plea—”

“Alright, don’t worry, you’ve been real good,” Bucky laughed, “you get whatever you need, darlin’. Only wanted to make sure we weren’t rushin’ into things.”

“Can I stay on my back?” Clint asked, watching as Bucky lubed up his dick.

“That’s the plan. Move closer? There we go.” Bucky curled his fingers around Clint’s ankle and lifted his leg. “It’s gonna be easier for me to stay balanced if I’m on my feet while fuckin’ you. This okay?”

Clint’s right leg was pointing straight up, braced against Bucky’s body for support, the other spread wide, giving Bucky plenty of room to work. Clint swallowed around the lump in his throat and shifted even closer. “Awesome. Where do you want my hands?”

A smile worked its way across Bucky’s face. “Wrists crossed above your head like before. If you need me to stop, I stop. I’m trustin’ you to let me know if it hurts.”

Clint got his hands situated and nodded. “Promise.”

“Love you, Clint,” Bucky said, turning to press a kiss against Clint’s calf.

Heart hammering fitfully in his chest, Clint stared up into Bucky’s eyes. He was never ever going to get sick of hearing those words. “I love you, too.”

Bucky reached between them, lining the slick head of his cock up with Clint’s hole, rubbing back and forth, round and round. “Remember what I had you doing to my fingers before?” Clint nodded. “Good. I want you to take a deep breath, then exhale nice and slow, sweetheart. Squeeze as hard as you can at the same time.”

_Holy shit, this is happening, this is really gonna happen, fuck yes!_

As was in keeping with the theme of the evening, Clint followed orders. His muscles were fatigued after all the clamping down he’d done on Bucky’s fingers earlier, so he only managed to the count of fifteen before he lost it altogether. That was the precise moment Bucky nudged the head of his cock against Clint’s hole, anticipating the way Clint’s muscles would give out. In one brilliant, confusing moment, Bucky’s cock was all but _pulled_ into Clint’s body, several inches of him swallowed up in one glorious go.

_Holy shit, there’s a dick in my ass! I’m officially being fucked by Bucky Barnes, in our bed, in our apartment, and I’m not dreaming, this is really happening._

“How the hell did you do that?” Clint wailed, sucking air through his teeth. His entire body felt like it was on fire. “Oh my fucking god, Bucky, you should see your face.”

Bucky’s arm was tight around Clint’s thigh, holding him close, his entire body vibrating. “My face? You’re all flushed pink and, fuck, baby, please tell me those are happy tears.”

Clint hadn’t realized his eyes were watering until Bucky said something. “Must be, ‘cause that didn’t hurt at all, it’s just, _whoa boy_ , there’s a lot of you, huh? You never said it made you feel like you had to go to the bathroom.”

“Sorry, s’not exactly sexy talk,” Bucky laughed. He seemed captivated by what was going on below, eyes wide as he stared down at where their bodies were joined together. “Should I stop?”

“No way,” Clint said, squeezing down experimentally. Bucky groaned, head dipping forward, his eyes all dark and wild. “Keep going.”

The tears had stopped, were already drying in fact, as Bucky moved. He looked almost drunk, mouth hanging open as he plunged deeper, eyes scanning Clint’s face for any sign of distress. “Never had sex without a condom before,” Bucky said, the words shaking their way out of his mouth. “You feel like heaven.”

“You feel huge.”

“That a complaint?” Bucky asked. “I can slow down or back off.”

Clint shook with laughter, which made Bucky moan. “No fucking way. I’m still trying to—oh, _Buck_ —trying to figure out how you managed to… to stuff it in without…”

“I got ways,” Bucky said once it was obvious Clint couldn’t manage to finish his sentence.

Clint lifted his head as much as possible while still keeping his hands in place, wanting to see Bucky’s cock sliding into his ass, but almost immediately flopped back against the bed, whimpering. Bucky was putting his hand to good use, slick fingers wrapping around Clint’s dick to squeeze and stroke, all while continuing the steady slide into Clint’s body. It made him feel like a live wire, some weird hybrid of the most relaxed he’d ever been and the most on edge.

“Can feel you flutterin’ around my cock.” Bucky’s voice was low and raspy in a way that only happened during sex. His hair was hanging down, framing his face, the blue of his eyes swallowed up by the black of his pupils. “Most amazin’ sensation, sweetheart. You gotta ditch the condom next time.”

“Great plan,” Clint gasped. “Bucky?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Love you.”

Bucky made a crazy noise and let go of Clint’s dick, reaching down to hold one of his hands. Their fingers threaded together, the mattress dipping as Clint’s hand was pushed down. He held on tight, anchoring Bucky, not minding the pressure and weight. Bucky was right above him now, heat rolling off of his body, long hair tickling where it brushed against Clint’s over sensitized skin. And then they were kissing, Clint moaning into Bucky’s mouth as he was fed the last few inches of Bucky’s cock.

“You got all of me now,” Bucky said, eyes locked with Clint’s, soft lips teasing Clint with another kiss. “How’s that feel?”

“About a thousand times better than I imagined it would be,” Clint whispered, sucking on Bucky’s lower lip, “and a little like your dick is poking my heart. Have I mentioned you feel huge?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, darlin’.”

Their chests heaved together as Bucky licked his way back into Clint’s mouth, the kiss sloppy, but sweet as hell. “Can I touch you with my other hand?” Clint asked, feeling lightheaded and desperate. “Please?”

“Permission granted.” Once he had the okay, Clint sank his fingers in Bucky’s hair, tugging a little as he sucked on Bucky’s tongue. “Mm, I’m gonna pull out real slow,” Bucky said, forehead resting against Clint’s, “and you’re gonna reach down and feel it all happen. Want those fingers everywhere, soldier. Be thorough.”

Clint shuddered, blinked up at Bucky. “Yes sir.”

As promised, Bucky moved slowly. After another kiss, he let go of Clint’s hand and shifted back to standing, reaching between Clint’s legs to stroke his cock. Bucky’s body was flushed, muscles taut, the tattoos a beautiful riot of color on his skin. Every last bit of Bucky’s attention was focused on Clint, which was pretty amazing.

“Get to it,” Bucky ordered.

Clint took a deep breath, exhaled nice and slow, sliding his hands down his body, trying to put on a show for Bucky. He tugged on his nipples, knowing it would turn Bucky on, then moved lower, slowly, down and down, until he reached his dick. Clint guided Bucky’s fingers, the two of them working together to slide his foreskin back and forth for a moment. With his other hand, Clint reached down to cup his balls, rolled them in his palm, letting himself become overwhelmed with sensation.

Bucky let go of Clint’s dick and took hold of his wrist, instead, tugging, moving his hand lower. His skin felt like it was on fire, the breath catching in Clint’s chest as he stretched, fingertips skating around the spot where he stopped and Bucky began. He’d done this the other way around plenty of times, almost as a way to confirm that he really was fucking Bucky Barnes. Feeling it from the other side of the equation was mindblowing.

_Best sex ever!_

“Oh wow.” Clint stared up into Bucky’s eyes as he traced the perimeter, feeling the way his body had stretched to accommodate Bucky’s cock. “That’s _awesome_.

“We’re just gettin’ started,” Bucky promised.

And with that, he started moving again, dragging his cock free from Clint’s body at the slowest of paces, giving Clint plenty of time to feel it happening. Both hands were in play now, so he could stroke and fondle Bucky’s cock as it left his body while keeping the fingers of his other hand flush with his ass. It was dirty and perfect and made his pervert heart sing with happiness.

The ridge of Bucky’s cockhead felt crazy as it popped loose, and by then they were both panting loudly. “Stay close,” Clint asked.

His asshole was spasming against his fingers, as if trying to figure out what it was meant to do. The emptiness now seemed as strange as the fullness had felt. Clint was worried that they’d have trouble getting Bucky’s cock back inside if he waited too long. He slipped two fingers into his ass, easy as you please, while jerking Bucky off with his other hand, making sure the head of Bucky’s cock bumped up against his ass over and over again.

“Fuck, Clint, that’s so goddamn hot,” Bucky moaned.

Clint nodded, let his fingers slip free, and bit down into his lower lip. “Ready? ‘Cause I think I might go nuts if you don’t get back inside me.”

“This is about you, darlin’,” Bucky said with an indulgent smile. “If you need my cock, take it, it’s all yours.”

_Relaxed, stay nice and relaxed. Damn, that’s a big dick. You already know it fits, c’mon, you got this, Clint, never missed a target yet, now’s not the time to start._

After taking another deep breath, Clint toyed with the spongy head of Bucky’s cock, enjoying the way it made Bucky whimper and twitch in his hand. Then he shifted his grip a little lower, guided Bucky in, holding his dick steady while coaxing the head past the ring of muscle, stretching and accommodating and…

“Beautiful, baby, oh, Clint, you got this,” Bucky said, voice trembling as he offered encouragement.

Clint shifted until his heel was nestled against the small of Bucky’s back and then used his leg to draw Bucky in closer, forcing him deeper, fingers teasing along the length of Bucky as he slid back home, their bodies flush once more.

“Still good?” Bucky asked, blinking the sweat out of his eyes.

“We’re so beyond good,” Clint stammered. Moving his leg had changed the angle, so that along the way, Bucky’s dick had reminded him of how much he liked having his prostate stimulated. His own cock was rocking in time with the pounding of Clint’s pulse, hard enough that his foreskin was pulled back to reveal the shiny head. “You need to fuck me. _For real_ , Bucky. Do you see how hard my dick is right now?”

“Mm hmm,” Bucky said, giving it a tug. Clint whined with pleasure and dug his heel into Bucky’s back again, trying to get him even deeper. “No touchin’ your dick. You can hold onto me if you need to, but otherwise those hands are above your head. Got it?”

Clint swallowed, nodded, and moved his hands, arching his body, still adjusting to all the new sensations. “Got it.”

Bucky stared down, smiling to himself as he looked Clint over. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Ready?”

“Very ready.”

“Alright then.”

And with that Bucky tightened his grip on Clint’s leg, pulled out about halfway, and surged back into Clint. Fireworks went off inside Clint’s ass, his cock jumping, mouth falling open in surprise. “Oh, _fuck yeah_ , Bucky!”

Before he quite knew what was happening, Clint was reduced to gasping and whimpering almost continually, shaking against the sheets, one hand snaking out to grab hold of Bucky, because he was coming apart at the seams and needed to anchor himself to reality.

Above him, Bucky was grinning, his expression absolutely wicked, and it was the hottest thing Clint had ever seen. There was no doubting whether Bucky was having a good time. Whenever a particularly wild sound escaped Clint’s lips, Bucky doubled down on what he was doing. The whole room was alive with sound.

“We… oh fuck, _yeah_ , right… right there, Buck, we gotta… gotta set up a…”

“Set up what now?” Bucky asked, pounding into Clint’s ass.

“Wanna be able to listen to this,” Clint managed to say, head thrown back as he gasped. “Bet I could… could get off from… Oh my god, your cock is amazing! The sounds? _Fuck fuck fuck_.”

“Next time, for sure.” Bucky fucked the thoughts right out of Clint’s head, laughing all the while. “Both legs up now, baby, brace your feet against my shoulders, just like that. Hold onto my thighs and raise your hips a little? Perfect, Clint.”

Clint felt wide open and filled to bursting and more alive than he’d ever felt in his entire life.

“ _Everything_ about you is perfect,” Bucky crooned, “inside and out. Feel so good around my dick. Look so damn pretty takin’ it, too. Love of my life, I swear, Clint, never been anywhere near so good, not ever.”

The new position meant when Bucky picked up the pace again it was even louder than before, the steady, repetitive sound of Clint’s ass smacking against Bucky’s body driving him out of his mind. Even better, each surge of Bucky’s cock brought him into contact with Clint’s prostate, making him all but wail with pleasure.

Maybe there were coherent words mixed in—Clint couldn’t be sure—but mostly he chanted Bucky’s name over and over again, along with a lot of profanity. Clint was overwhelmed and couldn’t be happier about the situation. His balls were tight against his body, cock bouncing back and forth in time with Bucky’s thrusts, leaving a sticky trail of precome on his stomach.

Clint held onto Bucky’s thighs, chanting his encouragement, trying not to hold too tight for fear of leaving bruises behind. Bucky was really leaning into him now, growling softly under his breath as he pounded into Clint.

“Holy fuck, _right there_ , Buck, please, please,” Clint begged, shaking. “Feels like… like I’m gonna explode… wanna come so bad.” Bucky spit in his hand and reached between them, taking hold of Clint’s dick. “Oh yeah, please, pretty please, make me come?”

Holding his breath, Clint stared down, mesmerized, watching the steady movement of Bucky’s hand. It felt like he rode the edge of orgasm for hours, but in reality it was probably less than a minute. A glorious, awe inspiring minute, where he was drilled and stroked and then Clint went off like a rocket. As in, he came so hard he actually saw spots and thought he might pass out, then remembered he was supposed to breathe.

_Holy best sex ever in the history of getting it on!_

“Yeah, baby, look at you go,” Bucky growled, fist pumping nice and steady. His fingers were slick with Clint’s come, and there were streaks of it all over Clint’s stomach. “Feels so goddamn good being inside you while you come.”

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,” Clint chanted, because Bucky hadn’t stopped fucking him. No, not in the least, he was nailing Clint’s prostate over and over again, making it feel like the orgasm might not ever stop. His dick was still spurting weakly, even after Bucky let go, flinging drops of come everywhere.

“Hands above your head,” Bucky demanded, and Clint scrambled to comply. Bucky held on, pressed them down into the sheets, which meant he was close enough to kiss again. “Cross your ankles behind my back.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Clint wheezed. He did as was asked, still panting and shaking, pushing against Bucky’s hands. This got him a pleased growl, so he did it again, struggling the tiniest bit, watching the reaction it got out of Bucky. “We gotta do this again, like a thousand times or so.”

“That mean you like takin’ my dick?” Bucky asked, sucking on Clint’s lower lip.

“Love it,” Clint sighed. He used his legs to encourage Bucky, to try to pull him deeper. “How ‘bout that ass?”

“Baby, you got no idea,” Bucky grunted. “Absolute perfection. I’m about to make a mess of it, though.”

“Oh yeah,” Clint said, “gimme.”

Bucky’s fingers were tight around Clint’s own, holding on for dear life. He was bright pink in the face, all sweaty, parts of him sticking to Clint. It was too much fun, especially since Clint was still riding high on the aftermath of orgasm. Tomorrow his ass would probably feel sore, but at the moment it was pure bliss and filled to the brim with Bucky.

“Gettin’ close.”

Clint moaned right along with Bucky as his hips lost their steady rhythm. Bucky thrust erratically, balls slapping against Clint’s ass, head thrown back in pleasure as he held Clint down and pounded away. They’d been moving pretty freely before, but suddenly Bucky’s dick was slipping out of Clint, wetness coming with it as he moved.

Bucky wasted no time repositioning himself so as to watch, letting go of Clint’s hands and pushing his legs farther apart. Clint propped himself up on his elbows and looked down, smiling like a goon. Bucky’s come was _everywhere_ , streaked across his dick, which he was pushing back into Clint’s body over and over again, as if to stop the steady flow of come.

“That’s insane,” Clint huffed, flopping back onto the bed. “Oh my god, the next time I fuck you? Yeah, I’m gonna save it up so you get the biggest load ever.”

“And _I’m_ the sex monster?” Bucky gasped, whimpering as he once again pushed himself into the warm wetness of Clint’s body. “You’re the biggest pervert I know, baby.”

Clint laughed, feeling giddy and stupid. Bucky moaned and splayed his hand across Clint’s sticky abdomen, as if to hold him still. “Can’t… fuck, can’t believe I was worried you wouldn’t like it.”

“Me neither.” Clint ran his hands through his sweat soaked hair and stretched, feeling used up and downright blissed out. “That was the best. Never be self conscious again, okay?”

“Deal.” Bucky slipped free of Clint’s ass once more and whistled. “You’re a grade A mess, sweetheart. Think you can walk? You definitely need a shower, and I kinda ruined these sheets, too.”

“In a minute. Get down here and let me kiss you a bunch.”

Bucky flopped down on the bed beside Clint, smiling sweetly, looking downright proud of himself. Clint loved it, loved knowing he was the reason for that look on Bucky’s face. He rolled onto his side and half draped himself over Bucky before kissing him, nice and dirty, reaching down to stroke Bucky’s cock once he was distracted. This got him a beautiful little whimper, so he did it again before sliding his hand up to pinch Bucky’s nipple.

Clint stroked the side of Bucky’s face, cupped his jaw, stared deep into his eyes. “How do I keep falling more in love with you every minute?”

“Dunno, but I’m in the same boat,” Bucky said, smiling. “Every time I look at your face I fall in love all over again.”

_Luckiest guy in the world._

They kissed, soft and tender, holding onto each other until their breathing evened out and their skin began to cool. Clint’s eyes were drooping with exhaustion, his backside already feeling a bit sore as the endorphins wore off. Not painful, exactly, just… well used. It made him smile.

“Let’s get that shower before we fall asleep.”

“Like the way you think,” Bucky said once he stopped yawning.

He reached for Clint’s hand as soon as they were on their feet, held on tight as they headed into the bathroom. And after, when they were snuggled up in their bed, Bucky was still holding on as Clint drifted off into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY THIS IS LATE!!! XD That 2nd job I took has sort of fucked over my writing time. And just to warn you, next week's chapter might come on Monday instead of Friday. BUT. This chapter is over 12K and there's bottom Clint, so hopefully it was worth the wait? *is a failure* There will probably be errors, because I've hardly had time to proof anything, so I also apologize for any roughness. It'll get ironed out once I have a minute to catch my breath. We're actually getting close to the end of the story. (;_______;) I love these two idiots. They're too much fun to write. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and sharing in this adventure!!! <3


	18. Chapter 18

Bucky tried to keep his hand steady as he lined up the camera to take a shot. “Say cheese.”

“No,” was Natasha’s answer, which was fine by Bucky since the response coaxed a smile out of Steve.

“Close enough.”

Unlike Steve, Clint was all smiles and looking damn fine, the muscles of his arms particularly pronounced as he, Natasha, and Steve stood outside of the shop holding the sign for SHIELD tattoo. Bucky smiled to himself as he snapped off a couple photos, hoping one of them would be useable.

“Alright, I think we’re good.”

Steve nodded to the work crew standing just out of view and after a moment of shuffling, the sign was taken off of their hands. Steve watched every movement with intense focus, as if worried the sign was going to be damaged now that he was no longer in physical contact with the thing.

Natasha retrieved her coffee and sauntered over, snatching the camera out of Bucky’s hand almost before he realized what was happening. “If these are all close ups of Clint, we’re going to have words.”

“Ha ha,” Bucky said, draping his arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, everyone’s in there and lookin’ fabulous.”

Clint appeared at Bucky’s side, two coffees in hand. “I wanna see.”

Natasha shifted so that they could crowd around the digital display while she cycled through the photos, making noises of approval as she went. “Not bad,” she said after a moment. “I think we should print and frame this one.”

“Definitely,” Clint agreed. “Steve looks happy and everything.”

Bucky fought against the uneasy feeling in his stomach, eyes drawn to where his brother was supervising the sign installation, as if needing to confirm Steve was still present and accounted for.

After months of tireless work, SHIELD was creeping closer to becoming a fully operational battle station. The grand opening was only two weeks away, and Steve was on high alert, acting like everything was going to come crumbling down around him if he relaxed for even a minute.

“Is he sleepin’ at all?” Bucky asked Natasha as quietly as possible.

“Yes. Not a lot, but enough.”

Natasha was still cycling through the photos saved on the camera, images of various stages of the construction flashing across the screen as they talked. It was Steve’s camera, so Bucky half expected everything to be all business, but there were a surprising number of photos of the group laughing together and goofing off while they were meant to be working. Steve was behind the camera, so he wasn’t in any of them, which made Bucky sad. You could almost feel the self-imposed distance in the photos, the sense of being on the outside looking in.

“Fuck me, how much sugar did you put in this?” Clint asked, making gagging noises as he shoved one of the cups of coffee at Bucky. “That’s disgusting, Buck.”

“Not all of us are naturally sweet like you are, darlin’,” Bucky countered, blowing Clint a kiss.

“Now _I’m_ going to gag,” Natasha said. “Clint’s right, you’re disgusting.”

Clint took a big mouthful of his own coffee, swishing it around in an exaggerated fashion before swallowing. “You’re not much better, Tash, you drink yours like a cat.”

Bucky burst out laughing as Natasha elbowed Clint in the side. “Like out of a saucer on the ground or somethin’?”

“Huh? No, with _milk_. Cats like milk.” Clint shook his head. “These are basic concepts, Buck. Keep up.”

“Oh, I keep up just fine,” Bucky said with as much innuendo as he could muster. Clint’s cheeks flushed pink, which was a real treat. “Don’t I, baby?”

“Stop being perverts,” Natasha said. “That’s an order.”

Clint saluted, adding, “Yes, sir,” biting down into his lip in an attempt to fight off his smile. He looked Bucky’s way with those pretty blue eyes of his, and just like that, Bucky was leaning over Natasha to kiss him. This earned him a kick to the shin, but it was worth it.

Bucky planted a kiss on Natasha’s cheek by way of apology, then the three of them watched as the sign went up on the side of the building.

“Crazy to think this is really happening,” Clint said. “My whole first week is already booked. I can’t decide whether to celebrate or rock back and forth in a corner while puking on myself.”

“You’re gonna do great,” Bucky assured him.

Clint sighed. “Of course you think that, you’re biased as hell.”

“He’s right.” Natasha took a long sip of her coffee. “I’m more concerned about Steve. People are going to walk in wanting work that he doesn’t consider, shall we say, _worthy_? Depending on how he handles turning away business, we could be in trouble.”

“Clint already told me there’s no money for bail figured into the budget,” Bucky said with a sigh. “I could always hang around in the beginning, crank up the ol’ charm while turnin’ people away?”

“Bucky the Bouncer has a nice ring to it,” Clint teased. A second later he was blushing again, thoughts obviously having taken a turn for the dirty. He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Then again, maybe not. You’re gonna have your hands full.”

“Assuming they don’t change the date on me again,” Bucky said, fighting against a surge of panic. “Great, now I wanna rock in a corner and puke on myself.”

“Aw, Buck,” Clint pulled Bucky into a hug, almost spilling his coffee on Natasha in the process. “I’m sorry, I know you’re trying to stay chill. I shouldn’t have said—”

“Please, like it isn’t all I’m thinkin’ about anyway.”

Which was true. After all the time spent waiting and being poked and prodded by a team of physicians, the moment of truth had finally arrived. Bucky had thought so, anyway, but a week before he was meant to have the surgery, the VA called to reschedule. Part of Bucky had been relieved, but the rest of him wanted everything over and done with so he could get on with his life. Until the surgery was complete and he was all healed up, anything fun like another tattoo was out of the question. They’d even suggested he abstain from sex, which wasn’t happening.

The idea of heading back into a hospital—of being hooked up to IVs and beeping equipment while being stuck in a bed—made Bucky feel physically ill. There were still mornings when he woke up confused and panicked, convinced he’d never left the hospital, and everything that had happened in New York was a fever dream. Bucky needed to wrap himself around Clint and hold on for dear life whenever his brain played those kinds of tricks on him.

Now he was two days away from surgery and compulsively checking his phone, simultaneously wanting and dreading a call from the VA. As of yet the only contact had been to confirm the schedule and to run through pre op instructions one more time, which meant it was really going to happen. Bucky was going to let people knock him unconscious, put a chip in his fucking brain, and surgically attach a robot arm to his body.

“I’m fuckin’ crazy,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut and counting down from ten in his head. “Why the hell am I doin’ this again?”

Clint rubbed soothing circles between Bucky’s shoulder blades, while Natasha confiscated his coffee so as to be able to hold his hand. “No more pain,” she said softly. “Two arms to hug Clint.”

“Clint loves you no matter what, so don’t worry ‘bout him,” Clint said. “That last attack was real bad, though, Buck. Worse than recovery is gonna be, I’m willing to bet. Tasha’s right, this is about saying goodbye to being ambushed by pain.”

“And huggin’ you good and proper,” Bucky added, envisioning it in his mind and feeling calmer for having done so. “Right. Okay, I’m okay.”

Bucky pressed his face against Clint’s neck and breathed deeply while squeezing Natasha’s hand in gratitude. “Only two days in the hospital. Odds are low that I’ll need follow up surgery.”

“And you’re nice and healthy going in,” Natasha reminded him. “It won’t be like last time.”

“Everything okay?”

Steve’s voice cut through the calm little bubble Bucky had found himself suspended in, prompting him to open his eyes. “Yeah, just havin’ one of my regularly scheduled freakouts over the surgery.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he’d expected, but was surprised when Steve stepped into the huddle to hold him tight. “You’ve already survived the worst life has to throw at you, Buck,” Steve said, his command voice comforting. He cupped Bucky’s face in his hands and stared him dead in the eyes, as if worried Bucky might not believe him otherwise. “We’re all going to be there with you watching your back. Before you know it, you’ll be home with Clint and this will all be a memory. It’s going to be okay, Bucky.”

Everyone had been saying the same thing, more or less, but for whatever reason, Steve’s confident assertion resonated with Bucky in a way nothing else had. He could feel the calm settling over him, the same sort of numb sense of immortality that he’d wrapped himself up in every time they’d gone out on a mission together. Even if it hadn’t kept him from losing his arm in the first place, Bucky had survived a hell of a lot during his time in the Army thanks to being able to keep his cool. After all, there he was, standing on a street in Brooklyn, breathing, _living_ , with the love of his life at his side. It was enough to make him think anything was possible.

“Damn straight,” Bucky said, hugging Steve as best he could. “Thanks, Stevie.”

“Any time.”

“Do me a favor? Tell me again before they put me under.”

Steve held his gaze and nodded. “Will do. As many times as you need.”

“Thanks.”

“Once you’re out of the hospital, you can return the favor by giving me a pep talk about all this,” Steve added, stepping aside to give Bucky some breathing room. “Hard to believe it’s finally happening.”

“Clint said the same thing.” Bucky gave his brother a pat on the back. “You haven’t even opened yet and it’s already classier than any of the shops Clint and I checked out. Comin’ here to get work done is a no brainer. SHIELD is gonna be awesome.”

“Thanks, Bucky.” Steve’s smile was there and gone again, but he seemed almost at ease. “I think… I think this will be good for me.”

The almost shy way Steve said the words left Bucky with a racing heart. “Yeah?”

Steve nodded and took a deep breath. “Even if getting paid for art feels selfish. I doubt anyone considers tattoos a gift to society.”

“Pretty sure you’re overdue on the whole being selfish front, Cap,” Clint said, sharing a look with Bucky. “Maybe you’re not saving kittens from trees, but tattoos make a huge difference to the people who have them.”

Steve pressed a hand against his side, leaving it resting above the spot where cherry blossoms were inked into his skin. “True.”

“We’re building something special here, Steve,” Natasha added, sounding very serious. “There are plenty of people who wouldn’t feel safe or respected going into your average shop. Providing a way for them to express their inner thoughts and feelings through art is worthwhile, if you ask me.”

“That’s a good point,” Steve said after considering Natasha’s words for a moment. He took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand across his face, adding a quiet, “Saving the world with bullets never made much sense, anyway,” before walking away.

Bucky watched him go, not sure if he’d actually heard what he’d thought he’d heard. “I can’t tell if that’s a good sign or a bad one.”

“Fucked if I know,” Clint said with a sigh. “Your bro has been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for so long it’s gotta feel a little like he’s gonna float away, now that it’s gone.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about.”

That unsettled feeling followed Bucky around throughout the rest of the day, but at least he had plenty of his own fears to distract him whenever the sensation got to be too much. There were a lot of ways a surgery could go wrong, even without factoring in the crazy science fiction type of procedure he was having done.

Bucky spent the next two days fluctuating wildly between excitement and terror. When he wasn’t staring at the space where his arm used to be, he was trying to remind himself of how much easier his life would be once he was all healed up.

Clint was a champ and went above and beyond to keep him distracted and comforted as he agonized the hours away. They watched his favorite movies, ate his favorite foods, and Bucky spent a ridiculous amount of time snuggled up with Clint and Lucky. The rest of the time they were naked and going at each other like they might not have another chance.

“Damn, baby,” Bucky gasped, “we keep at it like this and I’m gonna get yelled at tomorrow for showing up dehydrated.”

Instead of apologizing, Clint rode Bucky’s dick like a rodeo star, made him come so hard he lost the ability to string words together in any logical fashion, then bent Bucky over to take him for _another_ ride. After Bucky managed to come for a second time, Clint walked to the store and returned with snacks and about a half dozen sports drinks, each emblazoned with claims of excellent electrolyte replenishment. He spent the rest of the evening feeding Bucky salad, fresh fruit, and mixed nuts, all while making sure Bucky got plenty of fluids up until the presurgery cut off time.

Bucky assumed he’d be unable to sleep due to nerves, but the day’s marathon sex session caught up with him in the end, and he went out like a light. The next thing he knew, the alarm was going off, Lucky was licking his feet, and Clint was sprawled half on top of him.

Sleeping with the hearing aids in wasn’t comfortable, so Clint snored on, oblivious to the alarm. Bucky silenced it and settled back down against the pillow, wanting to soak in the moment. Clint was drooling, face mashed into the pillow, his hair sticking out stupidly. Looking at him made Bucky so happy that it felt a little like his chest might burst open.

“How’d I get so lucky?” he asked, laughing when Lucky barked in response. The dog scrambled up to their end of the bed, tail wagging with excitement as he licked Clint’s face over and over again.

“M’awake,” Clint groaned, “honest, Luck, c’mon.”

They brushed their teeth and showered together, kissing, holding each other, Clint washing Bucky almost reverently until they ran out of warm water and had to get out. They were quiet the entire time, Clint staring into Bucky’s eyes again and again. He toweled Bucky off, combed his hair, dressed him, then kissed him breathless.

“Love you,” Bucky said between each kiss, holding on tight. “We’ll be back here together again before you know it, sweetheart. Promise.”

“I know.” Clint dug up a smile and managed to keep it from slipping away. “I love you too, Bucky. Feels like I’ve spent my entire life loving you. Ain’t no way our story ends here.”

Bucky swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Damn straight.”

And because Clint was amazing, instead of bursting into tears, a handful of seconds later Bucky found himself laughing his ass off.

“Hey, do you think jacking me off with your robot hand counts for the physical therapy they want you to do after? What? Don’t laugh, man, I’m serious! How ‘bout butt stuff? It’s gotta be good for perfecting those fine motor skills.”

Bucky was still snickering when they headed out the door and down to meet his dads. He held onto the happiness all the way to the hospital and even managed to keep the mindless small talk going during the car ride. Steve and Natasha were waiting for them there, Sam not far behind, so that Bucky had a room full of people to distract him leading up to his surgery.

Clint got comfortable in the bed beside Bucky, which was good, since that made it easier to hold onto his wrist. Bucky wasn’t positive he’d be able to let go when the time came, but Clint didn’t seem to mind. He stroked Bucky’s hair and stared at him with puppy dog eyes, mouthing, “I love you,” whenever Bucky looked his way.

Each time a nurse came in to check his vitals, Bucky’s heart went wild in his chest. The minutes piled up one after another, until everything felt jumbled into one moment. Dum Dum and Gabe taking turns telling Sam stories of Steve and Bucky getting into trouble as kids, Natasha filling them in on Natalie Rushman’s latest exploits, Steve giving a progress report on the business. An eternity of staring into Clint’s eyes, holding onto his wrist, desperately trying to convince himself it was all going to be okay in the end.

A nurse popped her head in to give them a five minute warning, and then it was a parade of hugs and kisses and promises to see him soon.

“Hey, brother,” Bucky said, opting for French so they’d have a little privacy. “Promise me if this all goes wrong, you’ll take care of my man.”

“Nothing’s going to happen, Bucky,” Steve said, also in French, “but I’ll promise if that makes you feel better.” He leaned over and gave Bucky a hug. “See you soon. I love you.”

“Thanks. Love you, too, Stevie.”

Clint cleared his throat, eyes bright with tears. “Guess they’re gonna kick me out in a second.”

“Probably.” Bucky’s voice wasn’t any steadier than Clint’s had been, the words lodging in his throat. “Look at me, there you go. You said so yourself, baby, ain’t no way our story ends here. We got nothin’ to worry about, Clint.”

“I know.” Clint took a deep breath and forced a smile onto his face. “For some reason I thought saying goodbye would be easier this time ‘round. Stupid, right? I mean, we’re even in the same country and I’ll get to be there waiting for you when you wake up, but it’s still… _Shit_.”

“C’mere,” Bucky signed, grabbing Clint by the back of his neck and kissing him hard enough to leave his lips feeling bruised. “Ain’t nothin’ stupid about you, darlin’. I love you more than anyone or anything in the world. Keep Stevie and my dads from climbin’ the walls and drivin’ the nurses batty while I’m gone, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.” Clint kissed him again, only stopping once Bucky gave him the heads up that they were about to be interrupted. Clint wiped his face dry with the back of his sleeves and put on his brave face. “I love you,” he signed, following alongside the gurney as Bucky was wheeled out of the room. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Love you, too.”

Bucky twisted this way and that, managing to get a final glimpse of Clint before being pushed through a set of doors. Even from a distance, Bucky had been able to tell Clint was crying again, and it took every last ounce of willpower not to call the surgery off. It would be the easiest thing in the world to rip out the IV and hop off the gurney, to run the fuck away, right back into Clint’s arms where he belonged.

Except… if he followed through on the impulse, Bucky was shit out of luck as far as a replacement arm went. And no arm meant he’d be right back where he’d started, going through his day waiting for the pain to make an appearance, wondering how bad it would be when it arrived, and still caught by surprise each and every time it happened.

“Try to take a nice, steady breath, Mr. Barnes,” the nurse suggested.

Somehow, Bucky managed to follow her advice.

The fear wasn’t for himself. Well, _some_ of it was, sure, but mostly Bucky was worried about what might happen to Clint if something went wrong. Once the anesthesia kicked in, that was that—he’d either wake up or he wouldn’t. As far as ways to die went, it didn’t sound so bad. But someone would have to walk out and give Clint the news, and the thought of leaving him behind…

Breaths, deep, steadying breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth, until Bucky stopped shaking. Thinking about Clint getting that kind of news always led to Bucky imagining how the hell he’d manage to ever get up off the floor again if someone told him Clint was gone. It’d be a big game over, no two ways about it.

The doctor made an appearance right around when Bucky thought he’d lose his battle with the tears. Bucky lied and said he was fine when asked. Before too long, someone was placing a mask over his face and telling him to count down from ten. And as was always the way, the darkness came for him fast, reality fading into black as he lost the battle with the anesthesia.

There weren’t any dreams. One minute Bucky was there, the next he was gone. When he opened his eyes again, someone in a surgical mask was speaking calmly while removing the intubation tube. There were questions about how he felt, which he tried and failed to answer logically, his eyelids heavy and his brain loopy.

“M’hand is shiny,” Bucky mumbled, holding it up and staring in confusion, watching as it seemingly caught and reflected all of the light in the room. Around him, people began talking at once, sounding excited, but Bucky couldn’t pick apart the conversation in order to follow what was being said. “Need to get a glove, or somethin’.”

“What’s that, Mr. Barnes?” someone asked.

Bucky’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth. “This’ll give away my position in a heartbeat,” he managed to say before slipping back into unconsciousness.

The next time Bucky opened his eyes, it was darker and he was in a different room. The machines around him were beeping nice and steady, and his vitals looked good once his eyes focused enough for Bucky to make out the numbers on the display.

“Clint?” Bucky called, wincing at the dry mouth and almost raw feeling in his throat.

“I’m right here!” There came the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, and then Clint was at his side, smiling all wide open like a little kid. “Hey, Buck, how’re you feeling?”

“Stupid,” Bucky answered with a giggle. Whatever drugs they’d given him were A-OK as far as Bucky was concerned. “How long I been ‘sleep?”

“Only a couple hours,” Clint said.

“Wow. Lookit you, darlin’,” Bucky murmured. Clint was practically sparkling, the blue of his eyes shining out of his handsome face like the Fremen from _Dune_. Looking at him made Bucky feel warm right down to the tips of his toes. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

Without thinking about what he was doing, Bucky reached for Clint, dragging his knuckles along his boyfriend’s cheek in a gentle caress before brushing his thumb across Clint’s lower lip. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

Clint was wide eyed and pink in the face, the smile wobbling for a moment. “Holy shit, Buck. They told us you were able to move it in the recovery room, but… _damn_.”

“Hmm?”

“Your arm,” Clint said, reaching up to wrap his fingers around Bucky’s wrist. “Can… can you feel me touching you?”

“‘Course I can feel you,” Bucky said, confused.

He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision, but his hand still looked like it was glowing where it rested against Clint’s cheek. Bucky suspected there was something wrong with him, but Clint was too damned good looking for Bucky to focus on anything else. That familiar lopsided smile and those baby blues of his were distracting, as was the feeling of Clint’s fingertips gliding up along the inside of Bucky’s forearm, from his elbow to his wrist. The sensation sent a shiver running through his body, making Bucky break out in gooseflesh.

“Wait, we’re in America, right?” Bucky asked in an attempt to get his bearings.

“Yup. Man, the drugs did a number on you, Buck. It's kinda adorable.” Clint turned his face, nuzzling Bucky’s hand before pressing a kiss against his palm. Bucky had plenty of questions about what was happening, but they up and vanished from his mind at the touch of Clint’s lips. “Do you need ice to suck on? They said you’d be thirsty when you woke up.”

“S’not what I wanna suck on,” Bucky said, laughing again when Clint turned bright red.

Someone nearby groaned, prompting Bucky to turn and seek out the sound. Dum Dum was standing at the foot of Bucky’s bed with a hand over his face. Jim was beside him, fingers stuffed in his ears.

“La la la, I did not hear that,” Jim said, Gabe chiming in to add, “Definitely TMI, Bucky.”

“Sorry, pops,” Bucky said, scanning the room. The entire Dad Squad was present and accounted for, as were Steve, Natasha, and Sam. Bucky rubbed the side of his face, feeling confused. “Hey, everybody. I think I’m high.”

“That’s probably the anesthesia,” Steve said, reaching down to squeeze Bucky’s ankle. “We’re in Brooklyn and you’re in the hospital. Do you remember why we’re here?”

Bucky was pretty sure he should know the answer to Steve’s question, but the fog did not want to lift from his mind. Aside from being tired, loopy, and thirsty, he felt pretty good. Bucky opened his mouth to say as much, but started coughing instead.

“Give him a second, Cap,” Clint said, throwing a dirty look Steve’s direction. “Here, have some ice chips and relax, Buck, everything’s cool.”

Instead of taking the cup from Clint, Bucky opened his mouth and winked, signing his thanks when Clint placed a chunk of ice on his tongue. And that was it, the moment when Bucky’s brain finally caught up with reality and he understood what was going on.

For the first time ever, his _left hand was signing_.

“Holy fuckin’ hell, I got two hands!” Bucky chewed the ice in his mouth, making his teeth hurt in the process, but he didn’t care so much, distracted as he was by what he was seeing. Fingers wiggling back and forth in front of his face, one set in normal fleshtones, the other shiny and metallic. “You’re seein’ this too, right?”

“Yup,” Clint answered. “I think it worked, Buck. Like… _really_ worked. You remember what the doctors told us, way back? Most people need a couple days before they can even move the prosthetic, let alone control it the way you are.”

Bucky continued to stare down at his hands, feeling stupid, wondering how in the world he’d managed to forget why he was there. He’d woken up feeling whole in a way that he hadn’t since before getting blown up, the signals sent from his brain to the missing limb finally reaching their destination. Bucky watched in wonder with a racing heart as the fingers of his left hand curled inward against his palm, the movement fluid and easy. Now that he was paying better attention, the differences between the two limbs was becoming apparent. Not the way they looked, but the way they _felt_. The left side was somewhat duller, less sensitive than the right, but still…

Tears running down his face, Bucky grabbed Clint by the front of his shirt and tugged, sending the man off balance. It hurt when Clint pitched forward and collided with him, but Bucky didn’t care, because finally— _finally_ —he was able to wrap both arms around Clint and hold him tight.

“It worked,” Bucky croaked, breathing in the familiar scent of Clint. He held on for all he was worth, rocking Clint back and forth in his arms while crying like a baby. “I can feel so much more of you now.”

As if to prove his point, Bucky ran his shiny new hand over every bit of Clint he could reach, cataloging the differences in feedback between the right and left. Clint’s body felt much warmer when touched with his right hand, texture variations were more distinct, but whatever. The left fit perfectly around the curve of Clint’s jaw, meant he could cradle that beloved face between two hands in order to pull Clint in for a kiss.

The kiss was short, had more to do with celebrating the moment than passion, the two of them laughing and smiling like goons, faces still wet with tears. “Not bad for a first hug,” Bucky sighed, stroking Clint’s cheekbones with his thumbs, “but just you wait ‘til I’m outta this bed.”

“Baby steps, Buck,” Clint said, “you’re gonna feel sore as hell as soon as the painkillers start wearing off. You need to behave so we get you out of here on schedule.”

“Yessir.”

Despite how much he wanted to hold on forever, Bucky managed to let go of Clint and settle back against the pillows. Good thing, too, because a moment later his team of physicians appeared and kicked everyone out of the room so they could give him the once over.

It wasn’t like any exam he’d ever had before; after checking his vitals and running through a questionnaire, they opened a panel in his arm and plugged in diagnostic equipment. Bucky watched with wide eyes, some small part of his brain quietly panicking until they explained what they were looking at.

“Your response rates are off the charts, Mr. Barnes,” his doctor said. “As of this moment, we’re looking at the best possible outcome. We’re still keeping you for the full two days so we can monitor your progress, but unless there are signs of limb rejection, you should have a full recovery.”

“Thanks, doc,” Bucky said around a yawn.

Bucky fully intended to stay awake until Clint returned. He failed miserably, but the next time he opened his eyes Clint was slouched in an uncomfortable looking chair, feet propped on Bucky’s bed, head tipped back, snoring quietly at the ceiling. Seeing him there hit Bucky hard in a way he wasn’t expecting, leaving him scared to check on the status of his arm, as if they had traveled back through time, and he’d find a bloody stump waiting for him instead of shiny metal.

The prosthetic was still there, of course, fully operational. Bucky watched it move, catching the light as he reached for Clint. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“What time is it?” Clint mumbled, but a moment later he was sitting upright in the chair, eyes wide and expression hopeful. “You’re awake! How are you feeling? Do you need anything? I can get the doctor, or—”

“Shh, all I need is you,” Bucky said, crooking his shiny new finger. “Get in here with me.”

Clint looked skeptical. “They said your shoulder—”

“It feels fine. C’mon. Please?”

Bucky didn’t have to ask again. He shifted over, making room, and Clint scrambled onto the hospital bed as carefully as he could manage. Bucky wanted to roll onto his side and wrap himself around Clint, but that was both impractical and would hurt like hell. Instead, he threaded their fingers together, admiring the way Clint’s skin looked against the metal.

“How ‘bout we make this the last hospital visit for a long time.”

Clint laughed and squeezed Bucky’s hand. “Deal.”

“You doin’ okay?”

“Me?” Clint turned his head on the pillow so as to look into Bucky’s eyes. “I’m not the one recovering from crazy sci-fi arm replacement surgery. I’m fine.”

“Surgery is easy. You’re unconscious the whole time. Waitin’ around to find out how the surgery went is the hard part.” Bucky leaned closer so as to brush his lips against Clint’s. “I’d be worried fuckin’ sick if you were outta my sight for that long.”

“Worried. Yeah. Definitely that. Wanted to puke and run away to shoot things and shout at the doctors to hurry up.” Clint took a deep breath and was smiling by the time he was done exhaling. “You got your arm back, Buck.”

“And I’m gonna use it to hold you and touch you every chance I get,” Bucky promised. “Super gay sunset, right?”

“Hells yeah.”

They kissed again, slowly, carefully, Bucky’s metal fingers wrapped around Clint’s wrist while the flesh and blood ones touched his cheek, brushed hair back from his forehead, traced the curve of his jaw. “I love you, Clinton Francis Barton.”

Clint snorted, tears spilling down over his cheeks as he laughed. “I love you, too, James Buchanan Barnes. Forever and a fucking day.”

“Stay here with me while I sleep?” Bucky asked, breathing Clint in.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be. Get some shuteye, Buck. I’ll watch your back.”

Bucky settled down as close to Clint as he could manage and let his eyes close once again. “I know you will, sweetheart. You always do.”

And then he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kind words and forgiveness re: the late factor of the last two chapters!! I owe everyone replies and happy screaming. *squish*
> 
> Hey, Bucky has both arms! Time to spin Clint in circles on a mountaintop. ;D


	19. Chapter 19

Clint groaned and attempted to roll over and go back to sleep, but was thwarted when Bucky shook him by the shoulder again. “Aw,” Clint wailed, cracking an eye open to check the time. “What the hell, Buck, it’s not even six yet!”

Only, when he turned to glare at Bucky with the outrage the sleep interruption warranted, he realized something was wrong. Bucky was sitting up ramrod straight, phone pressed to the side of his head, wearing his game face. Clint’s heart kicked into gear, adrenaline pumping through his system as he leaned over to grab his hearing aids.

“—come there?” Bucky was asking.

“Who is it?” Clint asked with his hands, then, “Is it Steve? Is everything okay?” when he didn’t get an answer.

“Hold on, Clint’s finally awake.” Bucky moved the phone away from his mouth for a moment, but didn’t bother hitting mute. “Everyone’s fine, _sorta_ , only Steve’s enroute to the hospital and—”

Clint couldn’t help but interrupt. “Holy shit, what happened?”

Bucky’s head tilted to the side in response to something being said on the other end of the line, prompting him to reach over and cover Clint’s mouth with his hand before Clint could start with the questions again.

“Uh huh. Understood.” Clint licked Bucky’s fingers, which wasn’t mature, but whatever, he was worried. Bucky held up a finger, asking for patience, then said, “Don’t worry, Cap, I got it from here. Right. Yeah, as soon as I… Then _go_ , already!”

That said, Bucky hung up, head lolling forward for a moment as he scrubbed his hands across his face and groaned. Clint wanted answers, but part of him was scared to find out what the fuck was going on, so he opted for patience instead, watching as Bucky swung his legs out from under the blankets. He was up on his feet in an instant, scanning the floor for clean clothes. “Mary’s in labor.”

Clint had been so prepared to hear something horrible involving Steve or the business or one of their dads being in the hospital that Bucky’s announcement took a second to sink in. Once it did, Clint flopped back on the bed, laughing and breathing a sigh of relief.

“Holy hell, Bucky, I was—”

Bucky tossed a pair of jeans at Clint’s chest. “Don’t relax yet, Parker’s MIA.”

Brain still lagging, Bucky’s words rattled around in Clint’s head for longer than they should have before he snapped into action, throwing the blankets aside and pulling on his pants. “ _Shit_.”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Bucky sat on the edge of the bed so he could put on his boots, jaw tight and expression grim. “From what Steve said, Mary’s contractions started sometime around two, but she was hopin’ they were the Braxton-whatevers—the fake ones—so she thought it was no big deal. Left messages for Richard, figured she’d hear from him sooner than later. Only her fuckin’ water broke and he’s still off the goddamned grid!”

“Uh oh.”

“Once Mary realized it was the real deal, she called Steve, since he’ll actually answer his phone when a pregnant woman calls at ass o’clock in the morning. At least Richard left their car in the parking garage, ‘cause I’m pretty sure the last place you wanna be when you’re in labor is on the back of a fuckin’ motorcyle.”

_Oh boy, not good. He’s two seconds away from punching a hole in the wall._

Clint circled around the bed and settled his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, squeezing. “Deep breath, Bucky,” he said. “You said they’re on the way to the hospital, right?”

Bucky nodded, reached up to wrap shiny fingers around Clint’s wrist. “I knew it,” he growled, shaking with anger, “I _knew_ somethin’ like this was gonna happen.”

“Any idea what she told Steve?”

“Somethin’ about Parker attending a conference for work,” Bucky said, looking up into Clint’s eyes. “Guess who he put in charge of trackin’ the asshole down?”

Clint’s stomach went and did the flip-flopping thing again, leaving him feeling queasy. “Oh no.”

“Yup, yours truly. Steve gave me the name of the hotel in New Jersey Richard’s supposed to be stayin’ at and said I should grab the bike and snatch the motherfucker up if that’s what it takes to get him to the hospital.”

“Whoa, okay, enough is enough. Mary needs to come clean with Cap already,” Clint said, mind reeling. “Parker could be _anywhere_ , Buck.”

“I know.”

“If he’s not answering her calls, then—”

“ _I know_ ,” Bucky snapped. He stood in a rush, forcing Clint to take a few steps back to avoid being knocked over. “You think I _like_ lying to Steve? We both know this is a mess, but I’m not gonna be the one to blow their cover. I can’t do it, Clint, I got a narrow field of view, here. For all I know, meddlin’ could get someone killed.”

Bucky was breathing heavily and pleading with his eyes. “Hey, come on, this isn’t your fault,” Clint said, pulling Bucky into a hug. “You’ve been trying to convince him to quit for months now.”

“Yeah, well, I shoulda tried harder,” Bucky said, voice cracking. “I’m gonna try callin’ the hotel in case it’s a cutout, but I gotta think Mary’d have already gone that route if that was the case.”

Clint sighed as he let Bucky end the embrace. “I’ll get coffee going and call Tasha.”

“Thanks, darlin’.” The fingers of Bucky’s prosthetic felt cold against Clint’s skin as they traced the curve of his jaw, but he didn’t mind, not in the least. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Let’s never find out,” Clint suggested. To his delight, Bucky laughed, short and sharp, but a laugh nonetheless. Clint kissed him, then did it again after hearing the noise Bucky made in response.

That taken care of, Clint grabbed his phone and headed down to the kitchen, Lucky hot on his heels. After switching to speaker, Clint called Natasha, eyes narrowing when she answered on the first ring.

“I was about to call you. I’m enroute to the hospital.”

“Of course you are. Do I even wanna know how you found out?”

“Mary sent a text while Steve was on the phone with Bucky,” Natasha explained. “Last check in with Parker was twenty-four hours ago. She’s ninety percent sure he’s still in the United States.”

“Great, that narrows it down.” Clint fought a yawn while scooping coffee grinds into the filter. “Steve said something about New Jersey.”

“Tell Bucky not to waste his time,” Natasha said.

“Hang on. Buck! Get down here and talk to Tasha.”

Moments later Bucky snatched the phone off the kitchen counter and the two started running through possible scenarios, talking of Pakistan and drone strikes and instead of trying to follow the conversation, Clint opted to focus on making coffee.

_Things I don’t miss about my old life. All of this._

As far as Clint was concerned, the Parkers were straight up _stupid_. They’d each found someone to love, had even gotten out of the war in one piece, but instead of building a future together they’d decided to dive headfirst into the bloody world of espionage. Now a kid was about to get added to the mix.

Lucky picked up on his agitation and settled at Clint’s feet, whining as he licked Clint’s fingers. “I know. Humans are dumb, Lucky. Be glad you’re a dog.”

By the time the coffee was ready, Natasha and Bucky had wrapped things up, and Bucky was rummaging through the closet, muttering under his breath. A minute or two passed before he shouted, “Found it!” and emerged, holding a pack of matches aloft. He flipped them open and showed Clint the digits scrawled inside the flap. “In case of emergency. Guessin’ it’s the same number Mary has, but I gotta start somewhere.”

Clint plopped down on one of the stools and took a sip of his coffee, pushing Bucky’s mug toward him as he did so. “Worth a shot.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said absently, grabbing his coffee while dialing with the other hand.

Clint watched it all happen, biting down on his lower lip to stifle a smile. Bucky had been healed up for ages, but that didn’t matter so much to Clint. He was still cataloguing all the ways in which Bucky’s life had become easier since getting the prosthetic. Little things, like seeing him multitask, or bigger things, like how Bucky couldn’t seem to keep either hand off of Clint for any significant period of time.

Number one on his list? There hadn’t been a single recurrence of pain. Enough time had passed that they’d even stopped bracing themselves for it to make an appearance. There weren’t words for how good it felt not having to watch Bucky suffer, wondering how long the pain would last, or how intense it would be. No more walking around with a countdown running in the back of his mind, anticipating another round of suffering. It was such a gift that Clint and Bucky had written thank you letters to everyone on Bucky’s medical team, and then followed those up with a letter to Stark Industries for having invented the thing in the first place. The dude in charge would probably never see it, but at least Clint knew it had been sent.

“You know who this is and how to reach me,” Bucky said, his voice flat and emotionless the way it’d always been in the thick of battle. “The delivery you were expecting arrived ahead of schedule. Don’t know if that qualifies as an emergency in your world, but it sure as shit does in mine. Get back to me ASAP.”

Clint smiled and shrugged when Bucky looked his way. “Guess we wait now?”

“Let’s finish up our coffee, then grab Steve’s bike,” Bucky said. “Guessin’ he ain’t makin’ it into the shop today. Can you get access to his appointments?”

“Yeah, if we swing by the shop. Shit, Tasha and I are booked solid, too. Lemme send her a text, see if we should just close up for the day, or what.”

Bucky opened his mouth to reply, but then snapped it shut again. His phone was ringing. “That you?” The silence would have been intense if not for the sound of Clint sipping his coffee. “Right, so we’re lookin’ at a couple hours, at least. Uh huh. No, New Jersey. How the fuck should I know, Richie? Next time answer the phone when your pregnant wife calls you! Why the hell doesn't she have this number, then? Damn straight I’m pissed. I dunno, maybe ‘cause you dragged me right into the middle of your—”

Clint shook his head and gave up on following the one sided conversation, opting to finish his text to Natasha instead. Once that was taken care of, he decided to put together a couple peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, grabbed some random snacks, a cellphone charger, and anything else he could think of. Chances were they’d have a long day ahead of them.

“Parker’s in D.C.” Bucky announced after hanging up. “He’s flyin’ back within the hour. I’m gonna let Steve know he’s on the way home and hope he’s too distracted to ask questions.”

“I’ll take Lucky for his walk while you do that. Good luck.”

“Thanks, baby.” That said, Bucky planted a kiss on Clint’s forehead and went off to take care of business.

Nothing catastrophic happened while walking the dog, which was a relief. In fact, by the time Clint got home, Bucky seemed way more relaxed. He was his old playful self again, an arm slung around Clint’s shoulders and a spring in his step as they headed to the train station. Clint wanted to ask why, but was worried the adrenaline thrill of a crisis was the reason.

_Don’t go and get yourself bummed out over nothing. Not a chance in hell Bucky’s running off to play covert ops with Richard Parker. He loves your boring civilian life as much as you do._

As if reading Clint’s mind, Bucky flashed him a smile and blew him a kiss. “First chance I get I’m smackin’ Parker right upside his head. I was lookin’ forward to a lazy mornin’ in bed with you before work.”

“Same,” Clint said, not bothering to hide his relief.

Bucky pressed a kiss against Clint’s temple, and whatever lingering concerns he had evaporated at Bucky’s words. “Here’s hopin’ tomorrow we can get back to our regularly scheduled lives.”

SHIELD was closer to their apartment than the Parker’s condo, so they headed there first to get the contact information for Steve’s appointments. Their fearless leader was worried about losing a day’s worth of revenue and potentially alienating their client base, so it had been decided that Natasha and Clint would open the shop in the afternoon as per usual.

Each of them was booked solid into the next year, so Steve’s concerns were entirely justified. As it stood, he’d need to handle his rescheduled appointments off hours; the last thing they needed was three artist’s worth of clients being pissed. At least with the shop open, Clint and Natasha would be able to keep their own appointments and smooth over any issues arising from Steve’s cancellations. If Parker didn’t arrived by the time the pair needed to head to work, Bucky would stay behind until Richard showed up, then join Clint and Tasha at SHIELD so he could work the front and turn away any walk-ins.

Steve’s hard work and dedication had more than paid off, but in reality _Bucky_ was the reason the shop was so busy. A chance encounter with an ex-girlfriend had quickly turned into a cover story for a tattoo magazine. They’d all been interviewed, real deal photographers had come by and worked their magic, and the end result was page after glossy page showcasing and celebrating SHIELD’s aesthetic and the quality work being done. Next thing Clint knew, they were booked out the ass, the new business off and running in a way no one had anticipated.

Now, when he wasn’t working with Sam, or taking care of himself, Bucky was at the shop, charming potential clients and managing expectations. He’d also put himself in charge of photographing the final product whenever someone finished up a new piece, which was great, since Clint was usually too amped up to remember shit like that.

All in all, it was _awesome_. Getting paid to do something he loved was a part of it, as was being proven wrong over his whole, ‘no one will choose me to be their tattoo artist,’ mentality. Then there was the simple joy of working with his crew again. Their unit was smaller now, and some days Clint had a hard time dealing with that reality, but most of the time it was rewarding work.

Clint had his days—they all did—but even he could look back and see how much progress he’d made since leaving the Army. Stranger still, he woke up each morning excited to tackle the day, mostly because he knew Bucky would be right there by his side.

Steve was still intense, running SHIELD like a man on a mission, but he smiled more, even looked healthy, seemed to enjoy coming to work as much as Clint did. It didn’t hurt that SHIELD felt like a home away from home. They all took turns picking out the day’s music, no one shot at them, there were no explosions, and when they hung around at the end of a long day it was to talk about techniques and inks and clients, not to reaffirm they were all still alive.

“What if she’s in labor for like forty hours or something?” Clint asked as they locked up the shop.

“If that happens Richard better hide her gun,” Bucky said, laughing, “‘cause I guarantee Mary will shoot him.”

Even though they splurged on a taxi, it took some time getting to the Parker’s place, and once there they still had to grab Steve’s bike, drive to the hospital, and pick up more coffee, so as to avoid the horror of an under-caffeinated Natasha.

Steve and Natasha were in the delivery room with Mary when they arrived, but Natasha elected to leave in order to talk through shop business with Clint. They made calls, left messages, talked strategy for how to handle smoothing things over if someone flipped out, and all that was great, because it gave Clint something to do.

Once their business was sorted, though, it was waiting time. Natasha headed back to check with Mary, then came to get them so they could say hello and wish her luck. By unspoken agreement, they all avoided discussing the elephant in the room—the absence of the baby’s father—which was for the best, really. Steve had a familiar sort of murderous glint in his eyes, one that was reserved for Parker and Parker alone. Clint had seen it more than once over the years. It usually made an appearance any time Richard decided to improvise during a well planned mission.

“Dude, I hope for his sake that Rich spent his flight figuring out an excuse for Steve,” Clint said once he and Bucky were back out in the waiting area, “because your bro is not amused.”

“Tell me about it.”

Waiting. More waiting. Bucky spent the time compulsively checking his phone, or sneaking out to smoke cigarettes, while Clint sketched and paced and sent Natasha annoying text messages.

And then, just when Clint had managed to doze off, Natasha materialized out of nowhere, looking pale and all around freaked out. “I think I’m allergic to the miracle of birth,” she announced, plopping down in the seat next to Clint.

Bucky laughed and leaned around Clint to smirk at Natasha. “What, this didn’t change your mind about havin’ kids?”

Instead of dignifying the remark with an answer, Natasha reached into her boot and pulled out a flask, passing it down the row so each of the men could take a sip before she put it away. Clint settled down, expecting they’d have another long wait ahead of them, but ten minutes later their phones were buzzing and vibrating.

Steve’s message was simple and to the point.

_Meet Peter Benjamin Parker._

It was followed by two photos. The first was a close up of little Peter resting on Mary’s chest, mother and child all but glowing as they held onto each other. Mary’s face was damp with tears, and their friend was smiling as if she’d learned the secrets of the universe.

Bucky got to the second photo ahead of Clint, whatever he saw prompting a flurry of French. He held up his phone for Clint to see, even though they’d all received the same message. There was Peter again, only this time he was wrapped up safe and sound in Steve’s arms. The baby had seemed normal sized when on his mother’s chest, but looked alarmingly small when held by Steve, but that was only to be expected, since the man was a giant. It was the look on Steve’s face that had Bucky grinning ear to ear and tearing up. Their stern Captain was anything but in the photo, was smiling down at Peter like he’d won the lottery or made it to the finish line after a marathon, only a thousand times over. It made him look ten years younger and almost like a different person entirely.

“Holy shit, I’ve _never_ seen him so happy,” Clint whispered.

“Me neither,” Bucky said. He draped an arm around Clint’s shoulder and pulled him in close, the two of them looking down at the phone together as Bucky typed out a reply with his flesh and blood thumb.

_Your godson is a looker!_

A moment later, they got back, _Yes, he is._

_Tell Mary congrats. Glad you were there to cheer her on, little brother. We’ll be out here if you need us._

Bucky sank back in his seat, grinning up at the ceiling. “I know I should be pissed at Parker for missin’ the birth of his own kid, but right now I want to kiss the asshole.”

Clint cleared his throat. “I object.”

“I’m with Bucky on this one,” Natasha said, staring at her phone. “Steve needed a win.”

“I think we all did,” Clint said after a minute, looking from Bucky to Natasha. “This last year has been… Well, okay, personally I’ve had a lot of high points, but still. It’s been one motherfucker of year, right?”

“You ain’t wrong,” Bucky agreed. Cool, shiny fingers threaded with Clint’s, squeezing gently. Natasha reached out and covered them with her own, the three of them sharing a moment together.

“This feels like the start of something good,” Clint said, feeling lighter than he had in some time.

Natasha hummed her agreement and chuckled. “I’m betting Parker has at least an eighteen minute lecture in his future.”

“No way, we’re talkin’ a record breaking twenty-six, _minimum_ ,” Bucky countered.

Clint thought of the look in Steve’s eyes as he stared down at little Peter, and smiled. “Prepare to give me your money, losers. I promise you Steve’s gonna let Parker off easy with three minutes, tops.”

The trio were still arguing when Richard Parker came running into the waiting room, his face bright red and his clothes in disarray. “I’m looking for Mary Parker,” he shouted, running up to someone who didn’t even work at the hospital.

“I’ve got this,” Natasha said, whistling to get Parker’s attention. “Sticking around for the show, or heading to the shop?”

“We got time. I wanna give my brother a hug before we go.” Bucky sent her off with a salute, laughing over the sight of a panicked Richard being dragged away by Natasha. Once they were gone, Bucky brought his lips close to Clint’s ear and whispered, “Definitely the start of somethin’ good, sweetheart. For all of us, I think.”

Clint stared into Bucky’s eyes, lost in the love and adoration he found waiting for him there.

_How the hell did you get so lucky, Barton?_

“Happily ever after, huh?”

“Pretty sure we more than earned it, Clint.” Bucky brushed his lips against Clint’s and sighed, eyes sparkling with joy. “I’m ready for a whole lifetime of nothin’ but quiet days from here on out. You and me and the pup, maybe a pizza and some beer, and plenty of time with each other. Plus fuckin’. A whole lot of fuckin’ each other’s brains out.”

“Sounds like the perfect super gay sunset to me,” Clint croaked, a whole mess of emotions swelling up inside his chest. “I love you, Buck.”

“Love you, too, Clint,” Bucky answered. “Enough that it makes me feel like I’m gonna run outta room in my heart, but somehow, at the end of every day, I wind up even more in love with you than when I started.”

Clint gave up fighting his dopey smile. “Huh, what do you know? I’ve got the same problem.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, but if he was trying for a serious expression, he missed the mark by a longshot. “Sap.”

“You started it.”

And with that out of the way, the two of them huddled up together and got to waiting, much as they’d done time and time again while in the Army. Only, this time there was a lot more kissing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH~! Replies to comments are on the way. Thanks so much for being so patient with me at the end here. Of course, I don't know if you can call it an _end_ , since I'm going to have problems staying away from this universe. Next time we'll be back in the future, though, checking in on Steve and Tony and their family. ;D
> 
> THANK YOU ONE AND ALL for reading, commenting, supporting, and cheering this story on. You're all amazing. *hugs*


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